


fu zhai zi huan (父债子还)

by inertial



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Incest, M/M, Religion, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inertial/pseuds/inertial
Summary: Youngjae remembers he had a brother, even though he doesn't have one. He has vivid memories of playing with another throughout his childhood. No, it was an imaginary friend that he spent his time with—a boy with thick lips who laughed with him on summer days, held him whenever he was afraid and whispered of always being by his side. Those days felt real, understandably, to a young child who knew not the difference between thunder and lightning.Perhaps a little too real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work contains disturbing and triggering content. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Also, none of the views mentioned in the story are meant to represent my views nor is the story trying to push a certain agenda. >n< 
> 
> This work also contains sensitive religious themes, namely borrowed from Taoism. There will be links to publicly-available images of religious content that may cause discomfort (unlikely). I was hesitant about incorporating the religion into fanfiction because it felt disrespectful, but seeing media portrayals of it made me feel a bit more confident in posting this. >< I've tried my very best to represent the religion respectfully but I need to state that the themes mentioned here are not representative of the religion! I have no bad intentions in writing this work.
> 
> Sorru for such a serious warning HAHAHA. This fanfiction will be updated once a week!

 

 

父债子还

The debts of the father are the debts of the son.

 

 

 

 

**fu zhai zi huan**

_Daehyun/Youngjae,[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dggBqS9xlvI&list=PLflKpEjRZwlfOAcuR1dRDU1scvMkDR91W)_

 

 

The funeral was a month ago. Youngjae sits on the steps leading up to his front door, staring aimlessly into the distance. The wind pricks his cheek and he turns over his hands to stare at his palm lines.

His mother would have been sixty if she had waited two weeks more. His father went a year earlier, too soon for a man who boasted his strength often. But life is unpredictable, and death takes whoever it wants with or without warning. For Youngjae, he was lucky to at least be cautioned with his mother’s whooping coughs and his father’s strained voice.

Youngjae can still smell the chrysanthemum, those his mother used to boil to make tea. He laid them on his parents’ graves at the clearing just yesterday. The prayers from a month ago ring in his head persistently with dissonant clangs of bells and strident harmonies. He never liked the chanting that sounded more like shrill cries, but his mother wanted a traditional funeral.

So, Youngjae lead the funeral procession with his mother’s ashes kept in a ceramic urn. He held it as he walked around the neighbourhood his mother used to roam, giving her one last stroll around her home with her only son.

His parents’ health deteriorated rapidly over the last few years despite maintaining a decent lifestyle. His parents didn’t smoke nor did they drink, but they were plagued with pains and illnesses too frequently.

The tears have dried away after the days flittered past. The melancholy remains on Youngjae’s tongue, however. He had premonitions of his mother’s death but it would be ludicrous to expect it not to sting.

If he had a sibling, perhaps Youngjae wouldn’t have been given the hefty task of taking care of the house. He stopped living here a few years ago, staying at a dorm three hours away for college, but he visited often. His mother would tell him to focus on his studies as if his education couldn’t wait as long as her time could. His parents always stressed his independence, wanting him to move away as far as he could.

Youngjae stands, collecting himself with a long breath. He pulls open the shutter gate and locks it behind him, gingerly striding through the house. His mother’s room has started accumulating dust despite Youngjae’s frequent cleaning, as if the walls can sense the lack of a presence.

He stops at the stairs at the end of the corridor. It leads to the highest room in the house, the attic. His mother used to do religious prayers and rituals in there, warning Youngjae to stay out.  _It’s disrespectful to disturb the gods_ , his mother would say. Youngjae remembers the numerous times he accidentally kicked the ball and knocked over the [urn](https://i.imgur.com/McXxBQ5.jpg) in the living room, sandalwood powder and [joss sticks](https://i.imgur.com/EV7YvMD.jpg) scattering out. He would have to kneel and apologise, praying to the gods for forgiveness before cleaning up his mess.

While there was an [altar of gods](https://i.imgur.com/UfR7B9W.jpg) placed in the living room, Youngjae was never sure what existed in the attic. He assumed it was a similar altar with urns and joss sticks as well, just that Youngjae absolutely could not knock this one over with his clumsy antics. Perhaps it was more fragile, or more important.

When Youngjae was 12, his mother pasted a clear sign on the door that said  _DO NOT ENTER_ , even locking it as an extra precaution. Youngjae always thought it strange since she should have been more wary of him as a curious child. But he didn’t ask, because he knew he’d be chided out. It was the rule when it concerned the superstitious things his mother did—never question, else the sincerity is lost.

At that age, Youngjae still believed in ghosts and gods. So, when his mother told him that if he entered the room, he would anger the spirits, he believed it. He’d heard one too many stories of gods punishing humans for being ungrateful or greedy, such as getting cut on the lips if he ever stole a bite behind his parents' back. It had happened once after he secretly drank soup with the ladle and Youngjae still wonders if it was a coincidence.

As time passed, Youngjae grew less religious, but he still followed his parents’ rules to please them. It was frequently overbearing to have parents who were so superstitious. He couldn't whistle at night else he'd pull along a lost female spirit; he was not allowed to go out after 5PM during the first day of the lunar ghost month; he wasn't allowed to point at the moon, else his ears would be slit.

Youngjae knew his parents ultimately made him heed all these superstitions as they loved him, but it was honestly a huge nuisance at times. He had an amulet that he had to wear around his neck, and his mother would reprimand him if he ever took it off. The [amulet](https://i.imgur.com/auXc50e.jpg) had a golden figure of a child encased within a glass case. He wore it every day, while he played in the sun or even while bathing—until his mother made him stop when he was 12. She never said why and Youngjae didn't bother to pry. It did feel like a weight was lifted off his chest when he stopped wearing it, though. To have something tug down on his neck for so long made him desensitised to it.

Youngjae heaves. He’ll have to decide what he should do with the house. Sell it? Move back in? For now, he’ll have to do so to take care of it—no matter how safe the neighbourhood is, leaving a house unattended is simply asking for trouble.

With the modest wealth his parents willed him, he won’t have too much trouble for the next few years maintaining the house. But would he want to stay here for the rest of his life? Of course, the thought of letting go 23 years of memories is already seething through his heart. His parents raised him in this very house. He can remember the little details: which door creaks louder and the dents in the walls. But he had dreams of moving out into the heart of Seoul away from the more rural outskirts.

He runs his hands over the wall and glances up to the attic door. One thing he knows is that he’ll have to clean up the place before the dust begins collecting.

He decides to start with the attic.

 

 

 

Youngjae remembers he had a brother. He doesn't actually have one, but he's had the delusion throughout his childhood, probably out of loneliness. Sometimes, he gets deja vu while pacing through the house—of playing with another even though he's an only child. His mother tells him it's the neighbour's son he played with, but Youngjae remembers thick lips instead of Gongchan's thin ones.

When Youngjae was three, he fell out of the attic window. It wasn't strange for children to wander, but Youngjae was an obedient child who wasn't as adventurous as most three-year-olds were. Since birth, he had been a sickly child with breathing difficulties and intermittent fevers. The neighbours often whispered that he wouldn't make it past the coming winter, and the next, and the one after that.

Youngjae recalls the incapacitating scent of Chrysanthemum that lead him to the window of the attic—what was once used as a storage room. Then, a gust of wind shoved him over from behind. The flowerbed that broke his fall comprised peony flowers, but there was a yellow chrysanthemum petal in his hair. He cried as blood trickled down his head and his mother screamed.

Days after, Youngjae left the scent of bleach and white hospital halls behind. He sat in his father's arms with a pacifier in his mouth, watching the strange man in a golden yellow robe peruse the house. His mother explained that the uncle was here to help and Youngjae needed to be polite for the gods spoke through him. Youngjae learnt who the man was—a temple medium who many sought spiritual advice from.

His parents looked worried and spoke in low whispers with the man, head bowed in utmost respect. Youngjae tugged at the man's robe and his mother lightly slapped his hand, chiding him for being rude.

 _Your older brother is a very bad boy_ , the man spoke to him, voice strangely shrill.

Youngjae blubbered that he didn't have a brother. The medium said nothing as the other men followed him, hitting gongs and singing odd melodies that frightened Youngjae. He hid in his father's embrace while the medium wrote on thin slips of yellow paper, stamping them with red Mandarin characters. Likewise, he stamped the back of Youngjae's shirt with red, saying that it would protect Youngjae for now.

Youngjae stopped smelling the persistent stench of chrysanthemum, flowers he held at his grandfather's funeral. The man chanted some words that Youngjae didn't understand and turned to address Youngjae's mother.

_Your first son is very angry. He's causing havoc in your house and hurting your family._

Youngjae's mother widened her eyes before dropping her head low, her husband frowning in confusion.

_He wants to know why you got rid of him—why you love your youngest son, and not him. Now, your first child is trapped on earth and cannot ascend to heaven. You can do a liberation ritual so he can reincarnate, or you can choose to keep him as a divine spirit. It will be difficult, however, as your child is full of resentment._

The medium burned the papers, stuck them to the walls and told Youngjae's mother to come see him in a week.

Youngjae was then put to sleep. He could hear his parents fighting in the opposite room, so Youngjae creaked open the door to eavesdrop.

His father shouted that Youngjae's mother never told him she had a child with someone else. He kept on shouting till Youngjae's mother started to cry.

 _I didn't choose to have him. I didn't choose for any of it to happen to me._ She collapsed to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

_I kept screaming for help, but nobody came. No matter how hard I tried to push him off, I couldn’t… I just couldn’t…_

She cried like grieving at a funeral, curling her thin arms around her shaking body.

_I was a woman with nothing all alone in another country. I couldn’t keep him. I wouldn’t be able to give him anything. Do you think I wanted to kill my own flesh and blood?_

All that was left was his mother's sobs, so pained and sorrowful that Youngjae teared up.

 _I'm sorry,_ his father croaked. He knelt down and his eyes welled up with tears, gingerly reaching out to touch Youngjae’s mother. _I didn’t know._

His parents later came out of the room and stopped upon seeing Youngjae by the doorway, the three-year-old sobbing softly. He didn't understand any of what his parents said but he didn't like to see his mother so sad.

Immediately, his mother picked him up and soothed him with soft words. She chided him gently for staying up and brought him back into his room.

As his mother tucked him into bed, Youngjae asked why the medium said he had a brother. His mother fluttered her lashes and said that some years ago, she had a child.

 _Where is he?_  Youngjae asked.

His mother bit her lip. _I sent him away, sweetheart,_  she whispered.

_To where? Can I visit him?_

His mother swallowed and Youngjae missed the way her voice trembled.  _Back to the gods._

 _Why did you do that, Mama? Now, I have no one to play with._  Youngjae slumped in annoyance.  _Did you hate him?_

Youngjae's mother wept.

Youngjae reached out and hugged his mother, unsure of why she was crying. Maybe she missed his brother. Youngjae would, if he had met him. He was always so bored at home.

As a three-year-old who only knew of building blocks and toy cars, Youngjae began crying too. His father came in and held both of them tightly.

His father answered his other questions with elaborate stories of happy children who sometimes land on earth and sometimes go back to heaven. Youngjae asked how his brother looked like. Youngjae’s mother said she had never seen him, but he must have resembled her a little.

The last question Youngjae asked before he slept was this:  _What's my brother's name?_

His mother churned out a watery smile.

_Daehyun._

After the medium’s visit, Youngjae continued falling ill, though much less frequently. He still weathered terrible nightmares where black would gnaw into his sight and he ran from a child that giggled and snarled. His cheeks were thus used to the routine of tear stains and his palms pressed against his cheeks. Sometimes, he would even get anxious out of nowhere, running to his mother’s embrace. His toys broke easily and he could always hear footsteps from the attic. Three-year-old Youngjae was all too timid and fearful of the world, stature petite and eyes hesitant.

Things only changed when he turned four. He became much healthier, the plague of the common cold vanishing from his many miserable weekends. In fact, he started to flourish like a daffodil in summer, irises shimmering with all the life he was robbed of in his earlier years. He grew into an astoundingly optimistic and adventurous boy, scurrying around the garden and laughing joyfully by himself. Around his neck he would wear this amulet, a golden fixture encased within that h had to keep with him every minute of his days.

Youngjae doesn't remember most of it. The long years have passed, but the one thing Youngjae still recalls is the silhouette by the walls. It's all make-believe to him, a figment of his imagination he conjured up due to a lack of siblings.

Yet, Youngjae has the sparse details uncannily memorised—the kisses he got on the cheek, the cutting wind that would scare his bullies away, the flowers that would fall into his hair. He attributed all of this to his heroic imaginary friend who swore to protect him no matter what. His dreams at night let his imagination manifest with even more clarity. His imaginary friend, who stood as tall as him with a face he can’t remember, would hold his hand as they scampered around fields and colours.

But that was a long time ago.

Youngjae ascends the stairs, halting at the door to the attic. The large banner plastered to the door has become dog-eared and yellow, having been there for at least a decade.

_DO NOT ENTER._

Youngjae instinctively falters, reminded of his mother’s stern warning to never enter. Even in recent years, his mother still continued prohibiting him, probably because she felt he was not sincere enough to pay respects to the gods.

Well, there’s only him left in this family. He never planned on keeping up with his parents’ religious rites but now, it’s the least he can do for his parents. This is one of the few things Youngjae can remember them by.

Still, the reluctance lingers in the depth of his guts. It’s a force of habit to keep out of this room that he doesn’t consider part of the house, having never entered. It’s almost equivalent to walking into someone else’s house.

Youngjae chews on his lower lip. He reaches out to touch the door knob, an odd sensation crawling over his back. He glances behind him to find the hallway empty.

Soothing himself, Youngjae rationally reminds himself how stupid he’s being to let a superstition from his childhood keep him from doing his duty as a son. Youngjae turns the doorknob and pushes open the door.

A thick stillness greets him, air stagnant and cold. Yet, a vague scent of Chrysanthemum flitters around. Dust trawls the walls finely like with the rest of the rooms, suggesting that it’s been well-cleaned by his mother while he was at college. Youngjae exhales and steps in, sinking into a frown.

Toys are strewn across the room in a mess: marbles, cars, balls, building blocks, etc. Some crayons and papers sit in one corner. Along with them are snacks like ice gems and candy in plates. These are familiar; his mother often buys these food as [offerings](https://i.imgur.com/7WdTwVG.jpg) for the gods and the deceased.

The offerings are placed before an [oddly-shaped altar](https://i.imgur.com/6pal3S1.jpg) that sits against the wall. It’s different from the usual ones he sees at temples. This one is shaped like a miniature home and an urn stands in the middle with its [joss sticks](https://i.imgur.com/WXlXrZi.jpg) long burnt to a stump. Behind it is a blank red tablet, and beside that is a simple [cotton doll](https://i.imgur.com/fLRG6VC.jpg), wearing what seems like a traditional Chinese wedding dress.

The smell of Chrysanthemum beckons him towards the altar. Youngjae gingerly walks around the toys, careful not to touch any of them. He kneels down before the altar and scrutinises it.

His gaze falls on the glass bowl placed in front of the altar. He widens his eyes at the familiar [amulet](https://i.imgur.com/eruzEcZ.jpg) lying in the flowerbed of Chrysanthemum petals. It’s the one he wore throughout his childhood till his mother took it away. He can’t believe his mother kept it all this time.

Youngjae smiles fondly at the amulet, a memento of his past with his nagging parents. He rises to survey the room but the Chrysanthemum fragrance wheezes against his skin like pulling him along. His eyes are drawn back to the amulet as nostalgia blossoms in his chest.

He gets down on his knees and prays before carefully picking up the amulet. The figure of the child has lost its shine significantly, golden paint coat tattered and revealing a heavy black. The glass case has yellowed as well.

His mother had given this amulet to him to protect him. She said it contained a guardian spirit who would take care of him, and that it was why Youngjae never got into any danger or trouble. It was true that Youngjae lived a safe life, but what was most startling was that whenever Youngjae was in a precarious predicament, he would lose his amulet. Once, he had almost gotten into a car accident while running across the road. In shock, he came back home to realise his amulet went missing.

The few times Youngjae lost his amulet, his mother would be downcast, saying that the spirit did its job and had left. However, Youngjae always found his amulet. The amulet would end up in perplexing places—their yard, behind the bed, or between his worksheets. It always came back, and it made his mother happier than anything.

Warmth washes over Youngjae in a flood of memories. He suppresses the urge to tear up. His mother must have taken it back so many years ago and kept it in this room for a reason. The fact that his mother routinely visited this room to pay respects must mean something. Perhaps she was paying back all the times she felt the amulet had helped her son. Or maybe his mother took it away because Youngjae was all grown up and didn’t need a guardian spirit anymore.

Youngjae isn’t sure, but one thing Youngjae knows is that he doesn’t believe in such superstitions deep down. He clutches at it and simmers into the familiarity and warmth. It’s like a piece of his mother, of wanting to protect him no matter how incredulous Youngjae thinks it is.

Youngjae drapes the necklace around his neck. He presses the amulet against his chest, the feeling uncomfortable yet so nostalgic.

Out of the blue, a burst of wind slams the door shut. Youngjae jerks and whips his head towards the doorway, noticing then the large banner stuck to the back of the door.

有其父必有其子.

_Like father, like son._

Youngjae snivels as a gust trails over his neck, curtains fluttering by the window. He scrutinises the paper in an attempt to dissect its meaning. It must be for him, since he’s the only son of their family—obviously. But why write this on the back of the door when Youngjae never enters? Or was it for his father? His father rarely ever entered the room as well, though he could.

Maybe it’s simply another strange ritual. It’s not rare for his parents to do these things, garnering talismans and amulets to protect them from evil spirits. Youngjae turns away and begins cleaning up the room, garnering the scattered toys.

He glances out the attic window, fuzzy memories of falling out fleetingly returning. He gets a rag to wipe it and feels a little nauseous from the vertigo, having never seen the garden from up here in many decades. Everything looks oddly small from the second floor.

Stacking the toys in the corner, he dwells on what to do. He isn’t sure what are the proper procedures for taking care of this altar, but he guesses providing offerings weekly would be alright. His mother seemed to keep that routine, anyway.

He sweeps the floor, picking up the plates of ice gems and sweets. As he tosses them away, a loud noise resounds from downstairs.

Youngjae knits his brows, wondering if something dropped downstairs. It could be one of the neighbours coming over to offer condolences, though they’ve mostly kept their distance from their family all throughout the years they stayed in this neighbourhood.

Youngjae wipes his hands on his shirt and scuttles down the stairs. He freezes when he sees the door ajar and instantly backs up against the wall, moving towards his parents’ bedroom. Did someone break in? Maybe they thought no one was living here anymore so they seized the chance to commit theft.

With his heart in his throat, Youngjae anxiously sneaks into his room and swipes a can of bug spray. His hands tremble as he peeks out of the room. He’s always been mousy and non-confrontational, even in the military. Youngjae clenches his hands around the spray can and steps out, mustering up as much courage as his small heart can.

It’s quiet. “Hey!” Youngjae calls out, immediately regretting his words. He should have used the opportunity to sneak up on the intruder. The eerie silence glares back even more frighteningly until some crunching sounds resonate from the kitchen.

Youngjae gulps. His breath stops and his fingers tremble, absolute stillness stalling his fight-or-flight sense. His mind draws a blank and his throat goes dry. With the silliness of a child who hides under his blanket, Youngjae convinces himself it may just be mice.

"Hello?" A foreign voice almost pushes Youngjae to the verge of his repressed hysteria, the man jerking in fright. Year ago, he would have tumbled towards the door and upon falling out, perhaps broken his knee against the walkway.

Except... the voice isn't sinister or dripping with malevolence. It's small and timid with just enough innocence for Youngjae to swap fear with curiosity.

From behind the kitchen door emerges—

A child.

Youngjae's look of surprise promptly morphs into relief, the boy peering back up at him. He has hooded, large eyes that are grey and abysmal, as if staring for too long would make you fall into a depth numbers couldn't pin down. With a mole stamped into his left cheek, he dons a baby blue shirt and brown shorts.

He looks oddly familiar—perhaps a distant neighbour's son he'd seen at the supermarket once. Some years ago, a decade, maybe, even though this boy is way too young to have been from a distant past.

Youngjae lets out an exhale as the anxiousness dissipates from his chest. "Hello," Youngjae gingerly replies, lowering his arm.

The boy blinks. "Hello," he repeats, as if Youngjae was the one who began the conversation. He steps out of the kitchen but remains by the doorway, small hand scrunching up the sleeves of his shorts.

The boy's holding on to a bag of ice gems in his other hand. He tilts his head up at Youngjae.

"What are you doing here, little boy?" Youngjae crouches down to better level their gazes. "You can't go into people's houses without permission."

The boy snivels. "Um, Mama lets me stay here."

"Your mother lets you come here?" Youngjae asks. The boy nods, approaching Youngjae with curiosity blooming in his eyes, having ascertained Youngjae is indeed harmless.

Youngjae kneels down before him. "How did you even get in?" He sighs, chiding himself inwardly for forgetting to lock the door. "Do your parents know you're here?"

The boy nods. "Mama knows." He extends a finger and gingerly pokes Youngjae's cheek, melting into an adorable giggle. Youngjae offers a gentle smile in return. He can't be more than four years old.

"Tell your mother you can't enter this house without asking first, okay?" Youngjae remarks. The audacity of some people... It's been barely a few weeks since his mother passed on and the neighbours think they can let their children trespass like it's a playground?

"Why not? Mama lives here. And Mama lets me stay here," the child returns, touching Youngjae's cheek with that sole finger. He pulls back and continues munching on his snack.

Youngjae blinks in confusion. "Mama?"

It clicks. "Um, is Mama the elderly lady who lived here?"

"Mm," the boy hums. "She's gone, isn't she?"

Youngjae bites his lip. "Well, yes... she's gone to another place and won't be coming back for some time." 

He quickly changes the topic. "How long have you been in here? Did you just come?"

The boy holds out an ice gem for Youngjae to eat. Once Youngjae receives it, the boy patters over to the sofa and turns on the television. 

Scrutinising his packet of ice gems, he makes a face. "I don't want to eat this anymore. I want to eat something else." The boy crosses his arms and plops his head onto the couch. "Mama only feeds me this."

Youngjae stifles a laugh. "Let me see if I can find other snacks for you." He heads into the kitchen, ransacking the cupboards for any titbits. That boy must be one of the neighbourhood kids who his mother let play in their home. Youngjae's mother never mentioned him but it's nothing out of the ordinary—life goes on the same for his mother here so what's everyday for her is unknowingly a novelty to Youngjae.

He wonders if the boy understands the fact that his mother has passed on. At such a young age, he probably only sees death as some sort of journey to a faraway place.

Youngjae gets the bag of leftover apple chips in the fridge and hands it to the boy. "Do you like these?"

The small child tries one and melts into a vibrant smile. "Yes, yes! Thank you." He takes the bag and begins munching contentedly, looking up at Youngjae expectantly as if waiting for Youngjae to sit.

"You're welcome." Youngjae settles by his side and examines the boy beside him. He might come again since he doesn't understand that Youngjae's mother has passed.

"Mama never let me see you," the boy remarks.

"Oh, that's not it. We've never met because I've been away at college," Youngjae explains gently.  This boy must have reminded Youngjae's mother of Youngjae for her to allow him to come and go as he pleases.

"I wanted to meet you for a really long time," the boy hums, his voice dropping a few octaves.

"You did?" Youngjae fondly returns. "Why? Did my mother say a lot of nice things about me?"

The boy smiles, shyly squeezing his hands together. He says softly, "I really wanted to see you."

“Young… Jae.” He recites the name like learning it and peers at Youngjae's hands.

"How'd you know my name?"

"Of course I know." The boy reaches out and gingerly clasps Youngjae's wrist. He squeezes, squeezes, squeezes to his contentment. "Youngjae."

"Do you do this often? Go into other people's houses without ringing the doorbell?" Youngjae chuckles, observing the uncannily familiar child. Thick lips, large eyes, a mole by his left eye. Maybe he had seen this boy once when he came back to visit.

"Just Mama's house. My house," the boy announces, giving Youngjae an apple chip. He watches with doe eyes as Youngjae munches it down.

"What's your name? I'll send you home," Youngjae asks.

"Daehyun," the boy says, innocently swinging his legs back and forth. He stares up at Youngjae.

"You don't have to. I'm already home."

Youngjae blinks in confusion. Daehyun reaches up and touches Youngjae’s amulet.

“Keep me with you,” he says. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

The fragrance of Chrysanthemum lures open Youngjae's eyelids. Youngjae blearily flutters his lashes as he comes to, piecing together his surroundings. Evening spills over his form on the floor and into the wooden tiles.

A dream. Of course, why would a boy enter his house randomly? He lets out a soft yawn and rubs at the uncomfortable sensation on his chest where the amulet now sits. He'll have to get used to wearing it again.

Youngjae dusts the attic and goes out to get a quick dinner. It's quiet at home, just like at his dorm, but the silence crushes down onto his shoulders. He whimpers and sobs like how a man should never, curling up in his old bedroom that his mother kept spick and span while he was at college. The creases at the seams are probably left by his mother's fingers as she changed his sheets.

He's all alone now. Owing it to his reserved personality, he has only a few close friends: his high school best friend Himchan who's now studying in Boston, his college roommate Jongup and his childhood friend Junhong. Junhong came to the funeral, grieving over Youngjae's parents like they were his own. Jongup dropped by too, helping him with the arrangements. He had offered to stay with Youngjae, but Youngjae knows well Jongup has too many commitments even during this holiday period. Himchan still doesn't know because Youngjae doesn't want to bother him when he's burdened with his own issues.

It doesn't matter to Youngjae, anyway. Sharing his sorrow only makes him more miserable. Immersing in the scent of lavender and the queer Chrysanthemum smell still lingering from the funeral, Youngjae falls into a slumber.

 

 

 

It's warm. Youngjae scuttles around his backyard, 4 years old and carefree as any toddler would be. He yells, screams and laughs by himself. His mother watches with a smile from the kitchen window.

Youngjae plops onto the grass, sprawled out as he stares up at the clouds. He turns to the boy beside him.

"Daehyun, that one looks like a bunny," he says, pointing to a cloud. "That one is a dog."

Silence. Youngjae continues naming the clouds as the wind messes up his hair. 

"That one looks like you. The poofy thing in the middle is your nose."

The boy who Youngjae addressed grins toothily at him and finally speaks. "My nose isn't that big." His voice is as high-pitched as Youngjae's.

"It is. Your nose is super big," Youngjae exclaims.

"It's not." Daehyun rolls over and pouts at Youngjae. "Does it mean I'm ugly? I don't want to be ugly."

"No. You're handsome," Youngjae says matter-of-factly. "Almost as handsome as my Papa."

Daehyun smiles. "You too. But you look more like Mama."

Youngjae blows up his cheeks. "How can I be handsome if I look like Mama? She's a girl."

"But you are," Daehyun protests. "Okay, you don't look like Mama."

Youngjae turns over to face Daehyun and giggles when the grass tickles his nose. "Let's play tag."

Daehyun shakes his head. "Let's play hide and seek."

"No, you always win! It's unfair. You always know where I'm hiding." 

“Then, how about I hide and you seek?” Daehyun asks with a soft smile.

“No. I never find you and it makes me sad.” Youngjae pulls his lips to the side. “It makes me think you’re lost and I can’t find you again.”

“You’ll find me this time,” Daehyun hums, reaching out to pat Youngjae’s head. “You will.”

“You promise?” Youngjae mumbles.

Daehyun grins. “I promise.”

 

 

 

Youngjae wakes up to the sheets crumpled in his hands, the feel of grass blades dissipating from his fingers. The house is silent and his smile lingers along with a sweet warmth. The feeling is that of home—muddy shoes and baseball gloves, his backyard a wonderous playground to a toddler who knows little.

It must have been a good dream, Youngjae thinks. Maybe he dreamt of his mother.

Youngjae cleans up the living room, arranging his father’s magazines and wiping the display cabinet. He takes out a few of his medals and laughs at the memory of Junhong tripping in their relay race. Back in Mokpo with his grandparents, Youngjae doesn’t see Junhong as often since he has to take care of them.

He’s always been utterly thankful to have Junhong. While the kids branded him as a freak because he mumbled to himself sometimes (a habit that subsided as he grew), Junhong was fine with it. He never knew what Youngjae was talking about and would call him weird, but he stayed anyway. Youngjae himself didn’t seem to realise he was murmuring—or what he was murmuring.

Youngjae’s childhood is pretty vague during those years. Fortunately, he stopped talking to himself when he was 8, so Junhong only had to put up with it for a year, unlike his parents. They had to endure it all through his childhood, going off about some invisible being he conjured up to accompany him. While the self-talk waned when he got into primary school, he actively had conversations with the air before that. Youngjae doesn’t remember what his friend’s name was but his mother told him he loved that friend like he was his everything.

At least Youngjae stopped before the kids started getting meaner. Guess he grew out of his imaginary friend phase later than the other children.

He takes a shower, rubbing at the weight on his chest from the amulet. It feels familiar but he’s taking some time to get back into the routine of having it with him all the time. Youngjae clasps it while gazing into the mirror, holding it tight. He may not believe in these kind of things, but it’s comforting to know his mother gave the amulet to him as she wanted to protect him.

Something resounds from upstairs, soft yet clearly audible. Youngjae whips his head up at what seems like marble sounds right above his head. He frowns, waiting to hear more, but quietness follows.

Youngjae gets out of the shower with towel draped over his head. He drips water up the stairs to the attic and opens the door, peeking in.

It still smells like Chrysanthemum despite Youngjae getting rid of the wilted petals. Youngjae glances to the untouched marbles in the box. He’s not sure what he expected—the marbles to be rolling around on their own, maybe. It was common for him to hear this when he lived here, anyway, so it’s not much of a problem. His father assured him it was the pipes in the ceiling that made the noises.

Youngjae dries himself off. He lights the joss sticks and prays to the gods situated in the living room altar.  Subsequently, he heads up to the attic with some snacks. He pours out some apple chips and cheese crackers into the plates. Paying his respects, he goes back into his parents’ bedroom, occupying himself with a novel.

Dinner is a silent affair of buttered bread and nothing else. Youngjae curls up in his mother’s blanket and falls asleep.

 

 

 

It’s bright. 5-year-old Youngjae doodles on a sheet of paper while lying on his stomach. His father is with him in the living room, listening to tunes on the radio. Daehyun sits cross-legged beside Youngjae and prods at Youngjae’s drawing.

“You should make the slide really long,” he cajoles. “And big too, so we can both ride it at the same time.”

Youngjae nods and redoes his drawing of their ideal playground. His father gets the newspapers and browses through it, headline after headline of scandals and tragedies.

“Let’s get jet packs as a booster. So we can start from the top again.”

Youngjae lights up at the idea. “Springy boots! Springy boots too. We can bounce up.”

“Mm. Let’s add even more levels. It’ll be more fun. Oh, and put in scary stuff, like crocodile pools.”

“How will we get over them?” Youngjae scrawls in two pairs of springy boots, colouring it orange.

Daehyun points. “Using the jet packs.”

“What if we don’t get them? We can miss them,” Youngjae points out. He taps on the teleportation portal he had drawn. “If we go by here, we can’t get the jet packs.”

Daehyun crosses his arms in thought. “We’ll just have to swim across the pool.”

Youngjae erupts in a fit of giggles. “Daehyun, we’ll get eaten! You’re stupid.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” Youngjae colours in the slide with a bright yellow crayon. He glances up to see his father staring at him, newspapers lowered.

“Papa, I made this huge playground for Daehyun and me to play in.” He waves his drawing around enthusiastically.

Youngjae’s father offers a small smile. “You did? That’s nice.” He puts away the papers and lifts Youngjae up, spinning him around. Youngjae shrieks in elation, clutching on tight to his father.

“Shall we go play outside?”

Youngjae nods fervently. “Yes, yes!” He turns behind and exclaims, “Daehyun, let’s go play with Papa.”

Daehyun rubs his wrist. “Can I?”

“Of course! Papa, Daehyun can play with us, right?” Youngjae fiddles with his amulet absentmindedly.

Youngjae’s father pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he hums. “What do you two want to play?”

“Tag!” Youngjae chirps. His father brings him out into their garden and Youngjae patters around in excitement. The grass tickles the soles of his feet.

“Who wants to be it? I vote Papa.”

“Okay,” Youngjae’s father concedes. Youngjae lets out a loud scream when his father immediately reaches for him. He flees, sprinting till his father taps his shoulder.

“Tag, you’re it.” Youngjae’s father backs away with a radiant grin. Youngjae giggles and barrels in the opposite direction, going around in a circle as he chases after Daehyun. Youngjae’s father watches until Youngjae eventually trains his focus on him.

Jogging away, Youngjae’s father slows down for Youngjae to catch him. Once Youngjae taps his father’s back, Youngjae squeals and scampers as far as he can. His father tails him at a leisurely pace and eventually catches Youngjae once more.

“No fair! You only chase me and not Daehyun,” Youngjae complains.

His father licks his lips and looks around. “Well, let me try to catch him.” He starts off awkwardly, running in the complete opposite direction of where Daehyun is. Youngjae doubles over in laughter as Daehyun widely smiles.

“Where’s your friend, Youngjae?”

“I’m here!” Daehyun yells, but Youngjae’s father continues jogging around in an aimless circle.

He eventually taps the air and remarks, “Tag, you’re it!”

“You tagged the air! What are you doing, Papa?” Youngjae giggles till the tears well up in his eyes. Daehyun chortles along.

“Why don’t we make your friend ‘it’, then?” Youngjae’s father suggests with a pant, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Daehyun gleefully nods and Youngjae scuttles away from him with a squeal.

Some time later, Youngjae’s father returns into the house, leaving the two boys to rest on the grass patch. Daehyun rolls over and plucks an azalea flower from the shrub beside him. He slots it behind Youngjae’s ear and Youngjae gazes up with doe eyes. Daehyun smiles back, accomplished.

“Should we go back in?” He asks.

Youngjae nods.

 

 

 

Morning comes as Youngjae’s dream falls apart into nothing but the lint over the blanket. He feels happily empty, like meeting an old friend but having to say goodbye once again. Youngjae rubs at the amulet sitting on his chest and adjusts the chain necklace.

He spends the afternoon looking through his mother’s things, wondering if he should keep the room untouched. His mother had kept some of his father’s possessions, but she tossed away a good sum of his belongings as well. It racked up dust and Youngjae supposes being surrounded by pieces of what used to be is much more difficult than it looks. He knows now, after all.

He pulls out a grimy notebook from the bottom of his mother’s drawer. Flipping through it, he finds dates of several gods’ birthdays and religious processions. On the last page is a phone number belonging to a temple medium.

It’s probably the same medium as the one from his childhood. This medium came to their house several times when Youngjae was twelve—he vaguely remembers him visiting when he was younger, too. It was after this visit that Youngjae’s mother put up the banner and talismans on the attic door, strictly preventing Youngjae from entering.

Youngjae puts the notebook away. The day withers away with the sound of marbles rolling around above his head. Curled up on the couch watching television aimlessly, Youngjae wonders about where his parents are now. They believed in heaven, so Youngjae hopes they’re doing well up there. He burnt as much [paper effigies](https://i.imgur.com/n2wE2O2.jpg) as he could. The rite was like this: burning paper effigies of money, cars, houses and more would give the deceased these luxuries to enjoy. Youngjae wanted them to live as well as they could, even if it seemed foolish to outsiders.

He goes to the attic at night once more to pray. Standing at the window, Youngjae gazes down at the shrubs of peony flowers. The distance still looks scary, though it would have been much more frightening for him at three years old. He’s lucky the flowerbed broke his fall.

The door creaks. Youngjae swivels his head to stare at the ajar door. The large words on the banner glower back at him, complemented by talismans with angry red stamps.

Out of a strange compulsion, he decides to keep the door open when he leaves—perhaps because he’s afraid of the scrawls on the back of the door. The wind tickles his neck as he steps down the stairs. He almost hears a semblance of a whisper, but brushes it off as him hearing things.

With the radio turned on, Youngjae falls asleep to the melody of several old folk songs.

 

 

 

It’s loud. The thunder reverberates beyond the safety of Youngjae’s bedroom, crashing down with flashes of seething lightning. In his dream (resembling more of a memory), Youngjae is 5 years old and alone at home, shivering underneath his blanket as the downpour gets mercilessly heavier. His father is stuck in a traffic jam due to the storm knocking down a tree, while his mother is at the supermarket without an umbrella. She’d left him alone with the earnest promise of being back in half an hour, telling him to be good. One of the pipes sprang a great leak, so she urgently needed to get tools to fix it.

Youngjae jolts when another strike of thunder hits, a dissonant cacophony erupting. Youngjae squints his eyes shut as Daehyun holds him close. He’s five years old as well, just a little taller than Youngjae, but he protects Youngjae like he’s much older.

“Don’t be scared,” Daehyun comforts. He pulls Youngjae closer to his chest, their short legs tangled messily.

Youngjae buries his face into Daehyun’s shirt. His words come out muffled. “Papa and Mama aren’t here to hug me. They always do when I’m scared.”

“I’ll hug you. Don’t worry.” Daehyun tightens his grip. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“What about you? Aren’t you scared?” Youngjae asks softly.

Daehyun purses his lips. “A little. But I’ll protect you from the thunderstorm.”

Youngjae snuggles into Daehyun’s chest. He’s warm like a fireplace in winter.

“Do your Mama and Papa hug you when you’re scared too?”

“They don’t.”

“Why not?” Youngjae frowns.

Daehyun shrugs. “They just don’t.” He strokes Youngjae’s hair gently.

“When there’s a thunderstorm and you’re scared, what happens then?” Worry permeates Youngjae’s words, voice small.

“I just have to wait. The scariness goes away after a while,” Daehyun reassures. “I’ve been through scarier things, so it’s okay.” He kisses Youngjae’s forehead and affectionately nuzzles their noses.

“You have? Like what?”

Daehyun gazes down at Youngjae with a tiny smile. “Hm, I don’t know how to say it. Oh, when you’re lonely. That’s scary.”

“That’s not scary. It’s just boring,” Youngjae counters and puffs up his cheeks.

Daehyun protests sternly, “It is scary if you’re alone for many years. No one talks to you.”

Youngjae mulls over the prospect. “Mm, that does sound scary,” he confesses. “Do you still feel lonely?”

“No, not anymore. Because you are with me.” Daehyun proffers a smile that showcases his baby teeth. “I have a brother now.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” Youngjae promises. “So you won’t be lonely.”

Daehyun embraces Youngjae firmly and gazes into his brother’s eyes. “Me too.”

“Daehyun, if you’re my brother, doesn’t that mean your parents are my parents?”

“Um, your Mama is my Mama. But your Papa isn’t my Papa.”

“Why’s that so?” Youngjae furrows his brows.

Daehyun remarks nonchalantly, “I don’t know. But I don’t care about them.”

“Why don’t you care about them? It’s Mama; I love her,” Youngjae protests. He whimpers when another bout of thunder crashes against the windows, pelting rain demanding to be let in.

Daehyun presses their foreheads together and rubs Youngjae’s back. “Because I have you. You’re my little brother,” he repeats. “I don’t need a Mama or a Papa.”

“Really? How can you live without your Mama and Papa? I can’t,” Youngjae mumbles. He clutches at Daehyun’s sleeve when lightning slashes over the sky and prepares himself for more thunder.

“Ah, I’m scared, Daehyun,” Youngjae whispers.

“Don’t be scared,” Daehyun soothes, humming a low tune to pacify Youngjae. “I’m here. The rain will go away soon.”

Youngjae breathes in the scent of Chrysanthemum and nods.

His mother returns some time later soaked in the rain, anxiously searching for her child. Her shoulders fall in relief when she sees Youngjae taking a nap on the bed, loosely clasping his amulet.

 

 

 

When Youngjae was 3, he was a sickly child plagued with many illnesses and a frail stature. The medium’s intervention helped a bit, but he still fell sick too easily for a child. Around the house he would lethargically wander, never too far out in the backyard, else the pollen would tickle his nose and he’d curl back under the blankets.

Trapped within the supposedly safe confines of the house, Youngjae occupied himself with drawing and reading. As he treaded around the house, petite and fatigued, a shadow trailed along with his own like an extra weight. It kept to the walls and bled into the floors, teething at Youngjae’s ankles as if a chain.

Sometimes, Youngjae would see it when his father switched off the lights and crossed the room to turn on the dim night light. A boy that was probably the same age as him, faceless, eaten away by the darkness. And he did not seem nice. How did he know? Youngjae just knew, he would tell his mother, but she only told him not to worry too much.

So, Youngjae took to looking away when the shadow seethed around him. He hid between his father’s legs when the silhouette gurgled with a frightening gall. And he made sure to keep his eyes shut when he felt it stare down at him while he slept.

When Youngjae was 4, he was a sickly child plagued with many illnesses and a frail stature—till it all went away. The colds, the fevers, the coughs all disintegrated into a faded memory. The doctors couldn’t explain why, but his mother had her own answers. It was because of the amulet that she gave Youngjae, she reasoned to her small son. The guardian spirit accepted him and now protected him from the illnesses.

Of course, this was much more simplified than what the medium said. A vengeful spirit of a child that had been scorned would not be easy to shake off. It was a miracle, the medium remarked. Issues with aborted child spirits were usually only solved by liberation rituals and sincere repentance of the mother. Even then, the karmic debt accumulated would lead the family to be rife with troubles still, especially for the child that unfairly got to live.

At 4-years-old on a cold day in February, Youngjae lay in bed with a high fever. He saw the same bruising shadow lurking in the corner of his room even though it was daytime, and he felt like it was glaring at him. Malicious, sinister, hateful—Youngjae shrunk back at the presence.

Youngjae held a red toy car in his hand, a new gift he had gotten just today as his father felt so sorry to see his only child so feeble. Youngjae fiddled with it, running his thumb over the wheels. He pushed it across the mattress several times before glancing to the overcast silhouette. It kept to corners of his room frequently where there would be nothing but dust or dirt. This time was the same, except Youngjae had the strangest inkling that the shadow was looking at his toy.

Amidst the deathly quietness, Youngjae hesitated and flimsily held out his toy car. “Do… you want to play with my car?” He faintly offered, voice hoarse and barely audible.

His father, who was sitting beside him, tilted his head in confusion. Youngjae continued peering at the dark corner in the room. He croaked, “I… like to play with cars. I have lots of cars. Do you want to see them?”

He retracted his arm in instinctive fear, putting it by his side and turning away as if leaving a silent offering. His father chided him for talking to himself and told him to go back to sleep. After some minutes, Youngjae rolled onto his back and gazed up at his father’s face, bleariness coaxing his eyelids to fall.

Just before Youngjae closed his eyes, he saw the vague figure of a child standing over him.

He woke up to the sound of wheels rattling across the floor. As he pried open his eyes fully, only stillness remained. He felt somewhat better as his fever had gone down, but the shadow had disappeared. His toy car had fallen out of his bed across the room.

A day later, Youngjae recovered from his flu. His nose was still a little runny but he bounced around with more energy than usual, tumbling across the couch gleefully. His parents still did not let him leave the house, so he opted to play in his room. Lying on his stomach with his legs swinging high up in the air, he made whooshing noises as he waved around his airplane.

He turned when he felt someone staring at him. There it was again—his mother and father could never see it, but he knew it was there. Youngjae sat up and curled his fingers, discreetly shifting away from the corner. It didn’t feel as malevolent as before, but it was still scary.

Youngjae glanced down at his toy airplane and held it out. He got up and pattered out of the room, peeking through the ajar door for a moment before scuttling out into the living room. Clambering into his mother’s lap, he read a colourful book of counting numbers and fell into a sweet slumber.

In his dream of plain concrete and grey, Youngjae wandered around with large eyes and fingers digging into his shirt. The town was empty, as if everybody had vanished and he was the only person left on earth. He could barely differentiate between certain objects due to the grey gradient swallowing up every texture.

Youngjae curled his fingers against his chest as he ran a hand over the pillars. The fear bruised in his ribcage as he called out for his parents. He began to scamper, searching for any sign of life.

“Mama!” Youngjae cried, tears blurring his vision. He stopped when he saw a shadow in his periphery and hastily turned. He held some hope it was his mother, but the fright gnawed at him as he found just a silhouette staring back at him.

It stepped forward. Youngjae stepped back with a whimper and fell onto his bum, curling up into a ball as he buried his face in his hands.

Then, he heard the familiar sound of wheels rattling. He peeked through his fingers, still heaving. His red toy car rolled up to his feet and he confusedly picked it up.

Looking up, he saw the silhouette—but this time, it had a face.

It was a boy with tanned skin and thick lips, wearing an expression that Youngjae could not read. Youngjae felt relief wash over him but at the same time, he retreated as he sensed the boy was not particularly friendly.

The boy stood there wordlessly, simply staring at Youngjae. Youngjae lowered his head apprehensively and stole peeks at the boy, fiddling with his toy car. Youngjae wondered why the boy had his toy car initially. Maybe he wanted to play with it.

“Um,” Youngjae spoke softly. “Do you want to play with my car?”

The boy stared at him, not a change in his expression. Youngjae gingerly got on his knees and crawled over, poking the car over.

After a while, the boy squatted and took the car. He simply moved back and forth over the asphalt road, not making a single noise. Youngjae watched and gained some courage, sitting more comfortably.

“Do you like cars too?” Youngjae asked. The boy spared him not a glance.

“I like them a lot. This one is my favourite. My Papa bought it for me.” Youngjae put his hand over the boy’s fingers as he took his car, not noticing the way the boy’s eyes narrowed. Youngjae jubilantly opened the car doors and showed it off.

“See, it’s special.” He returned it to the boy who scrutinised the toy car. He looked up at Youngjae and said nothing, focusing on the toy once more.

“I can show you my other cars,” Youngjae offered excitedly. He loved showing others his collection. “I have 6. You can play with them. One of them has, um, this… this… it’s shiny.”

The boy glimpsed up at him. Youngjae smiled like the oblivious 4-year-old he was, trying to join in by prodding at picking up tiny pebbles by his shoes to make a race track.

“We can race!” Youngjae suggested. He slumped once he realised there was only one car and tried looking around for his other toys. “Aw… If I’m at home, I can get my blue car.”

The boy batted his lashes, no trace of amiability nor contempt over his face. He stared, stared and stared till finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

Youngjae roused from his sleep to find himself in bed. He climbed out and pattered to the kitchen, tugging at his mother’s dress to ask for a hug.

Carrying him into the living room, his mother checked his temperature. “You’re much better now,” she sighed thankfully. Pecking Youngjae’s forehead, she fed him his medicine and sat him at the dining table. Youngjae giggled when his mother tickled his tummy, forgetting all about his dream.

Weeks later, Youngjae began talking to himself. His parents were mostly amused and tried to engage the boy with questions about his imaginary friend. Youngjae didn’t know the boy well and the boy never spoke a word while they played together. Sometimes, he would gesture, asking Youngjae to do this and that, but he kept to himself if he could.

On a Sunday in April, Youngjae sat with the boy in his bedroom. He blabbered about great superheroes as he sprinted around his small room, leaping up and down from his bed. He stumbled once and the boy frowned at him, as if telling him to stop. Youngjae acquiesced and settled with running around his room.

When he got dizzy, he collapsed onto the floor and curled himself up with a soft groan. Surprisingly, the boy stood up and stared at him with a look of slight concern. Youngjae fluttered his lashes and sat up, fiddling with his superhero. He took another one out from his chest of toys and handed it to the boy.

“Mm, this can be you. You’re red,” Youngjae announced as he sat by the boy’s side. “And this blue one is me.” He twiddled with his toes and asked, “We’re the superheroes of this town. Youngjae and… um, what’s your name?”

He had asked this several times, but the boy had never once answered. Expectedly, the boy ignored him and continued play with Youngjae’s toy vehicles. Youngjae pursed his lips and suggested, “I’ll call you Red, then.”

The boy lifted his head and watched Youngjae prance around the room enthusiastically. “Red and Youngjae!” He swooped them around and brought out a villain toy figurine, hitting it with his superhero toys.

“Bam! Red and Youngjae saved everyone!” Youngjae giggled as he knocked over the villain. He lay on his back and continue soaring his toys through the air.

“Daehyun.”

Youngjae stopped blubbering and turned to look at the boy, eyes wide that the boy had spoken to him. The boy let out a breath and repeated with a crossed expression, “My name is… Daehyun.”

“Oh.” Youngjae rolled over onto his stomach. “Daehyun,” he said, testing the name out on his tongue.

“My name is Youngjae.”

“I know.” The boy went back to playing with Youngjae’s toys.

“Do you want to play together, Daehyun?” Youngjae bubbled. Daehyun rolled in his lips, for once considering Youngjae’s offer.

“What will we play?”

“Anything you like!” Youngjae excitedly ransacked through his chest of toys. This was the first time Youngjae had a playmate. The other children were told to stay away because he was ill often.

Daehyun thought for a while. “Racing,” he muttered.

“Okay!” Youngjae grabbed his collection and toddled over, dropping one on the way over. He laid them out for Daehyun to select, considerately letting the boy choose first.

Daehyun held on to Youngjae’s red toy car. “This one.”

“I’ll take this one.” Youngjae picked up a green truck and declared, “Let’s see whose car reaches the wall first!”

Youngjae pushed his truck with all his might, winning some of the races with glee. Daehyun didn’t seem too interested but nonetheless continued playing with Youngjae, till Youngjae’s mother walked in.

Instantly, Daehyun’s expression soured and he glowered at the woman. On the other hand, Youngjae delightedly ran up to his mother to get his snacks.

“Are you playing with your friend?” Youngjae’s mother asked gently.

Youngjae nodded. “We’re racing.” He pulled on his mother’s dress and bubbled, “Mama, he told me his name.”

“Oh?” Youngjae’s mother brushed his cheek, wiping away the crumbs of his cookies.

“Mm. It’s Daehyun.”

Youngjae’s mother halted in her ministrations. She stared down at her son and questioned gingerly, “What did you say?”

“I said his name is Daehyun.” Youngjae pattered back to his toys and tilted his head at Daehyun who sat facing away from Youngjae’s mother, playing with Youngjae’s toys.

“You don’t want to race anymore?”

Daehyun shifted away from Youngjae. Youngjae sat by his side anyway, squeezing his mini basketball. He didn’t notice his mother gazing at him with parted lips.

She approached cautiously and knelt by Youngjae’s side. Daehyun instinctively walked to another corner of the room, wordlessly rolling the car up the wall.

“His name is Daehyun?” Youngjae’s mother repeated.

Youngjae nodded. His mother kneaded her fingers through her dress and continued, “Where’s Daehyun?”

“There.” Youngjae pointed to where Daehyun was.

Youngjae’s mother got up and briskly left the room. She reentered soon after with several items in her arms. Youngjae curiously toddled over as she paced to the corner. Daehyun hissed at her, slipping away to Youngjae’s bed.

“Youngjae, tell your friend that I brought him some snacks too.” Youngjae’s mother set the plate down with some anxiousness in her eyes.

“He’s not there anymore, Mama. Daehyun moved to the bed.”

Youngjae’s mother bit her lip. She veered towards the bed and carefully placed the tray on the floor. Daehyun narrowed his eyes at her.

Youngjae’s mother came back into the room a few more times, each time leaving something new. A baby blue shirt, a pair of beige pants, a toy motorcycle Youngjae had never seen before.

“Mama, what’s this? Can I have it?”

“No, it’s for Daehyun,” Youngjae’s mother gently said. Youngjae slumped in response.

His mother gazed at the bed while Daehyun paid no heed to her. He glanced every time she left something new but none of it interested him.

“Youngjae, has Daehyun taken his presents?”

“No, he’s still playing with my car on the bed.”

Youngjae’s mother clutched at her dress. “Tell him to take them, okay? It’s for him.”

“I want a new toy too, Mama,” Youngjae said. He barely finished his sentence just as Youngjae’s mother left the room quickly.

Youngjae lay on the floor with a pout, staring at the shiny motorcycle. Daehyun glanced to him and remarked, “You can take the motorcycle. I don’t want it.”

“Really?” Youngjae lit up and scurried over with a toothy grin. “Thank you, Daehyun!” He picked up the toy and joyfully ran his thumb over the wheels.

Daehyun looked at him. He slid down to sit with Youngjae. “Do you still want to race?”

“Mm!”

Youngjae built a race track with building blocks and the two boys continued with their game. Outside, Youngjae’s parents stood, watching Youngjae giggle by himself and announce his victories and losses.

“You gave it Youngjae’s birthday present?” Youngjae’s father sighed. “It’s just a coincidence, Qian.”

“It’s not. How could he have known?” Youngjae’s mother stressed. She watched with a strange look in her eyes, one of hopeful happiness and repressed sorrow.

“You told him once.”

“A year ago. How could Youngjae have remembered his name? It really is him. I can feel it,” Youngjae’s mother whispered.

“Believing in this kind of things only makes it harder for you.” Youngjae’s father heaved and turned away.

At 4 years old, Youngjae picked up a bad habit of talking to himself. Months later, he blossomed into a bubbly, healthy child who would scuttle around the house with his imaginary friend, Daehyun. Youngjae’s mother gave him an amulet that she said would protect him, and from then on, Youngjae became inseparable from his imaginary friend.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

**fu zhai zi huan**

Daehyun/Youngjae, [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dggBqS9xlvI&list=PLflKpEjRZwlfOAcuR1dRDU1scvMkDR91W)

 

 

Youngjae sits in the living room as he sorts through his old college assignments. Filing them into a folder each, he remembers his mother nagging at him to be more organised. His father used to ease her by reasoning that Youngjae was a man, irritating her further.

Junhong called this morning to check up on him. It’s scary to know the closest person to you has just left without warning, Youngjae thinks. To be left alone in the world without his mother is scary. He doesn’t have any relatives since his grandparents have passed on, so he only has Junhong left from his childhood. He can count with his fingers the number of people who actually bother about him now.

Youngjae does the laundry and folds his clothes. Finishing the rest of his chores, he prays at the altar in the living room before pacing up to the attic. His amulet weighs down on his neck.

A breeze threads sweetly through his hair as he arranges the toys properly this time. He notices a familiar red toy car and melts into a broad smile, dwelling in the memories of his father. He pestered his father to buy it but he refused to, saying it was too expensive. Days after, while Youngjae was sick, his father surprised him with a sparkling red toy car.

Youngjae glances to the altar. It’s strangely different from the altar in the living rooms where the gods sit. The toys here—toy cars, building blocks, balls, the female doll… Youngjae can’t make sense of it. It feels like a child’s room.

Still, Youngjae pays his respects. He finds his eyelids falling though he hadn’t felt tired before this. Sitting in the corner, his dazed eyes notice the words on one talisman stuck to the wall:

做个好哥哥.

_Be a good brother._

Youngjae furrows his brows. Sleep claws at his eyelids no matter how hard he fights it. He simmers into a foggy remnant of his past dug up from his unconscious—standing in the temple while holding the hand of another boy. Thick lips, strong nose, hooded eyes. The medium sits in his yellow robe and speaks in a voice too shrill for Youngjae’s liking.

“You didn’t come back to do the liberation ritual.”

Silence. Youngjae’s mother nervously plays with her fingers.

“You wanted to keep him, didn’t you? You put your younger son’s life at risk, even though I already said the child does not want to be a guardian.” The medium clicked his tongue.

“But- but this time-”

“I know. He’s willing now. It’s surprising.”

“He’ll protect Youngjae?” His mother’s voice is filled with relief and joy. 

“Yes.” The amulet is strung around Youngjae’s neck. The boy beside him squeezes his hand.

The view of the attic blurs as Youngjae struggles to stay awake. He can’t piece together who the boy is in that strange memory.

He falls asleep to a light touch on his cheek.

 

 

 

It's hot. Youngjae dreams of Chrysanthemum petals in the bath water and the bullies from his primary school. He's 110 centimetres tall and 7 years old, skittling down the hallway with his lunchbox. The kids avoid him because he talks to himself, and some of them pick on him. Three, especially. They’re older than Youngjae by 2 years.

Youngjae settles at the school garden, pulling out the grass curiously and tossing them into a pile. He dusts the dirt off his fingernails and stuff his face with his sandwich.

Shadows fall over him. Youngjae widens his eyes as he hesitantly lifts his gaze, wincing at his bully’s sly grin.

“Fucking freakshow.”

Youngjae whimpers as the boy steps up to him and shoves him down roughly. The other two throw his bread onto the ground and stomps on it.

Youngjae tears up. “No, my Mama made that for me!”

“He acts like he’s in preschool,” one of them snickers.

The biggest of the boys wrenches Youngjae up by his collar. Youngjae struggles to breathe, clawing at the boy’s wrist.

The world blurs. Youngjae screams.

“Daehyun!”

Abruptly, wind blusters against them and the boy stumbles, Youngjae falling from his grasp. This gust is seething and cutting, pricking roughly into Youngjae’s skin. One of the boys loses his footing and lurches into the wall, groaning upon hitting his head.

The wind stops. Youngjae spins on his feet and runs.

 

 

 

“Junghoon died.”

7-year-old Youngjae mumbles to himself as he sits in his garden. His mother is on the phone, chatting gregariously with an old friend from her hometown.

Youngjae looks to Daehyun, some sadness in his eyes. On the contrary, Daehyun seems to be repressing a smile.

“Daehyun, are you laughing?” Youngjae asks softly.

“I’m not.” Daehyun plucks out a strand of grass and pinches it, flicking it with one finger. He tears off a yellow flower from the nearby shrub and slides it into Youngjae’s hair.

“You’re pretty.” Daehyun laughs, tucking Youngjae’s hair back.

Youngjae huffs. “You don’t call boys ‘pretty’. I’m not a girl.” He wraps his arms around himself. “Junghoon died really suddenly. It was a car accident.”

Quietness drifts past the two boys in the garden, only Youngjae’s hair flittering in the wind.

“I did it.”

Youngjae turns. Daehyun grins widely, pride scribbled into his face.

“You did what?”

“I pushed him while he was waiting at the traffic light last night. You were sleeping then.” Daehyun smiles broader, waiting in anticipation as if expecting praise.

Youngjae parts his lips in shock, rapidly fluttering his lashes as he tries to comprehend Daehyun’s words.

“Why'd you do that?” He blurts.

Daehyun’s smile falls. He answers with a frown, “Because he was bullying you.”

“You can’t do that, Daehyun,” Youngjae whispers, pulling his legs up to his chest and miserably hugging them tight. “Did you really do that?”

Daehyun bores his eyes through Youngjae’s head. “Of course I did. I’m your brother,” he states in annoyance. “I have to protect you.”

“You can’t do that to people,” Youngjae returns, quite upset. “It’s bad. You shouldn’t have done that.” He veers his head away in disappointment.

Daehyun stares at Youngjae for a moment before locking his jaw. “Why are you so upset? I stopped him from bullying you. He’ll be fine. It’s not scary to die.”

Daehyun folds his arms. “I did it for you, just so you know.”

“But what you did was really bad, Daehyun…” Youngjae doesn’t look at Daehyun. “I wish you hadn’t done it.”

Quietness suffocates the two as Youngjae presses his face against his knees.

Daehyun clenches his hands. He rises and yells, “I’m not a bad brother! I’m a good brother!”

Youngjae flinches and stares up in surprise at Daehyun’s teary eyes. Daehyun takes off, sprinting away and vanishing into thin air.

He doesn’t return when Youngjae calls out for him. He doesn’t come back for dinner, either.

 

 

 

_I only wanted to keep you safe._

 

 

 

Youngjae wakes up in the attic with evening dispersed over the floorboard, pink hue illuminating the tears down his cheeks. His dream falters as always but it remains in his memory as he rubs away his tears. Staring at the streaks on his palms confusedly, he puts the odd dream out of his mind.

Junghoon is a faded remnant of his past. The boy was 2 years older than him and picked on him relentlessly. Then, he passed on in a tragic car accident. Someone said it was a large truck that hit him. Another said he was run over.

After that, Youngjae stopped getting picked on. The other two bullies laid low, severely affected by their friend’s death. Youngjae never heard of them after he graduated from primary school.

Around the time of the car accident, Youngjae lost his amulet. He remembers crying for many days, though he can’t remember why. He found it under his bed a week later and his mother chided him for being careless.

His dream sends chills up his spine. He didn’t have a friend at that time—he met Junhong only the year after. Neither would he or anyone he knew do something so heinous.

Yet, the dream had been so vivid like a memory. Youngjae rubs his eyes and heads to his room, opening up a dusty drawer containing his memories. He digs out some of his drawings that his mother had kept for him, from cards for Father’s Day to seemingly meaningless doodles.

Youngjae pulls out crumpled sheet after crumpled sheet. He can sort of gauge when these were doodled from the other side of the paper, printed with his father’s work-related documents.

One is of a villain fighting a superhero, messy crayon scrawled all over. Another is of him and a boy holding hands in a garden. For some reason, he can tell the name written is misspelled.

 _Daehyun_.

Youngjae muses for a moment. This must have been his imaginary friend. He always yearned for a brother, being bored at home as the only child and what more not leaving the house often.

Skimming through the papers, Youngjae finds more drawings of his imaginary friend. He must have been the big brother Youngjae wanted—a little taller, a little bigger, yet always sweet to him. Youngjae chuckles at the simple sentences clumsily scribbled on some sheets.

_Daehyun caught me a butterfly today._

_Today, Daehyun was a monster. He chased me. It was fun._

_I gave Daehyun my cookie. Mama was angry I left it on the grass. I scolded Daehyun for not eating it._ This one’s accompanied by a drawing of an angry him and his imaginary friend wearing a sad expression.

With a lovely warmth brewing in his tummy, Youngjae slides the yellowing drawings back into his file. His hand automatically reaches up to the amulet on his neck, similarly yellowing from the amount of time that has passed. He was 4 when he first got this amulet.

All of a sudden, Youngjae hears the sound of marbles. He peeks out of his room to be greeted by silence. A gust of wind tousles his hair, coaxing him out into the garden.

Locking the door behind him, Youngjae lies down on the grass and gazes up at the sky. Night is falling fast, blue eating away into the gentle pink. It’s pretty. Youngjae delves into the nostalgia of lying here with his father—and another, but it’s not his mother.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae tries the name on his tongue. He reaches out for the sky, grasping at nothing but the air.

A magnolia flower falls into his hair. Youngjae sits up and removes it, staring at the pretty white twirl of petals. A breeze whelms him, nuzzling against his skin.

He goes out to buy dinner. Flipping through some of his old mementoes, Youngjae dozes off as midnight comes.

 

 

 

It’s cold. 6-year-old Youngjae stands in the snow at the park, wrapped up in a thick winter jacket and a scarf. His nose is red and he sniffles.

He sloshes through the snow in giggles, stomping around and examining his footsteps. His father holds on tight to his hand in case he slips.

The playground is covered with snow. Youngjae’s father prods Youngjae’s nose. “See? I told you it’d be covered with snow, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Aww. I wanted to play here with Daehyun.” Youngjae buries his face into his father’s chest.

“Well, you should have listened.” Youngjae’s father pinches Youngjae’s cheek. “You can play around here if you want.”

“Okay,” Youngjae bubbles. “Come on, Daehyunie. Let’s go play!”

Daehyun follows after with enthusiasm. “I want to make snow angels.”

“Mm, that sounds fun!” Youngjae plops onto his back and stretches out his limbs, moving them with some difficulty. Daehyun does the same, pouting when he leaves nothing behind.

“I’ll make one for you.” Youngjae scoots over and waves his arms, jumping back into his own snow angel. Daehyun happily settles down and sprawls his arms out.

They sprint around the playground, Youngjae screaming as Daehyun pops out from under the slide to scare him. He tumbles and falls flat into the blanket of snow.

“Youngjae, are you okay?” Daehyun asks in concern while Youngjae gets up on his wobbly knees. Youngjae wipes away the snow on his face.

“Mm, I’m okay.” Some snot drips from his nose and Daehyun tries to wipe it away for him.

“My face is cold now,” Youngjae whines, rubbing his hands over his face. “My lips are frozen. It’s like I put them in the fridge.”

Daehyun chuckles. He kisses Youngjae and brushes the boy’s hair back. “Do you feel better?”

“No, it’s still cold,” Youngjae complains, wiping his nose. Daehyun kisses him again.

“Better?”

“No.” Youngjae sniffles. “Aren’t you cold, Daehyun?”

“I’m not,” Daehyun assures, interlacing their fingers. “We should go ask your Papa to give you something warm to drink.”

He pulls Youngjae along.

 

 

 

Sunrise melts into a forgotten warmth as Youngjae stirs from his sleep, still clasping tight onto his amulet. He lets go with a small frown and rubs his eyes, sitting up as the slew of papers slide from his chest into his lap.

He tidies up the mementoes he had taken out from the drawer, taking a while to once more look over his drawings. He hadn’t known how attached he was to his imaginary friend.

As the years flew by, his imaginary friend withered away into a long lost memory he can never put his finger on. By the end of primary school, Youngjae was by most people’s standards normal, a bit reserved but nonetheless aware of social etiquette—discounting the weird rules his mother made him heed. They weren’t particularly interfering, though he got some eyebrow raises. He couldn’t wear all black for a Halloween play since it was the traditional funeral attire so the teacher had to give him a red wristband. Even during his camp, he had to exchange beds with another student because his mother didn’t like him sleeping in front of the door.

It was perhaps how he was raised that Youngjae would catch odd movements in his periphery, harbouring the superstition that the supernatural was lurking. He’d hear footsteps from the attic that his parents never seemed to catch. His things would end up in different places from where he left it, what his mother attributes to his forgetfulness. A draft often followed him while he matured into an adolescent, keeping him cool on summer days.

Eating a simple breakfast of toast and eggs, Youngjae goes out for a long walk. The day withers by aimlessly as he rounds the familiar turns. They revamped the convenience store; Youngjae hadn’t noticed. In the past year, his visits back home were spent mostly with his mother at home. She wasn’t supposed to go so early.

He sweeps the floor and watches TV in the evening, falling into a long slumber on the couch.

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams. He’s in his home, night drizzle streaking down the windows. The sky isn’t downcast but instead gleams with a modest clarity, summer rain more delicate than depressing.

This time, Youngjae’s acutely aware of being asleep. He steps out of bed and curiously explores the place. It’s blatant that some parts of the house are different. They struck a heavy cord of familiarity in Youngjae.

The walls aren’t peeling and the shade of white is fresh and vivid. He can hear the television blaring one of the talk shows his father puts on despite not watching it. Youngjae bites his lip as the tears come to his eyes, him soaking in his reminiscences. His toys are scattered in the hallway and he can recount how his mother used to chide him for making a mess.

The living room seems to be empty. Youngjae winds over to the couch, wanting to take a seat when he notices a figure. It’s a boy, probably not more than 5 years old.

Instantly, a tide of nostalgia floods his every nerve. He stares at the boy with wide eyes, the sensation wheezing in a familiarity so stark he wants to reach out. His mind doesn’t register who the boy is but his implicit memories pushes him towards the sofa.

Youngjae settles down by the boy’s side, blinking at him. The boy continues watching the television as he munches on some ice gems. They sit and watch in quietness, the only sound between them from the television. A cartoon is currently airing, one of Youngjae's favourites about a town of cares that have races every episode.

The boy giggles when one of the characters tumbles and hits his head. "Do you remember?" He speaks up, startling Youngjae who turns to look at him. "I always wanted to watch the cartoon on the next channel. But you liked this cartoon, so we watched this."

Youngjae nods slowly, glancing to the television. The boy continues to watch with a toothy grin.

As the episode progresses, Youngjae finds in his periphery that the boy is staring at him. He tilts his head and meets the small boy's eyes.

"Youngjae." The boy kneads his empty packet of biscuits, his eyes glazing over with mist. "Youngjae," he repeats, softer this time as if remembering a history from many lives ago.

Youngjae leans forward hesitantly. "Mm, that's me. What’s your name?"

Daehyun crosses his legs. "I'm Daehyun."

Youngjae’s heart stirs, palpitating faster and faster against his ribcage. He feels an odd surge of energy suffuse him and it makes him brim with an untouchable warmth. Where has he heard this name before?

Youngjae wracks his brain. “Daehyun?”

“Mm. I’m 4 years old. I like cars.” Daehyun holds out a toy in his hand, that of a red toy car that’s distinctly Youngjae’s old car. “You like cars too.”

“I did.” Youngjae fiddles with it while Daehyun gazes at his ministrations. He giggles sweetly.

“I missed you,” he sighs, a little too wistful for a boy who should be learning how to count.

“Um, I missed you too,” Youngjae returns for the sake of responding to a boy he doesn’t even know. The words slipped out too naturally, however.

It suddenly dawns upon Youngjae. He’d been flipping through his old drawings and saw the name of his imaginary friend.  _Daehyun_.

“You’re… my imaginary friend,” Youngjae breathes, melting into a whimsical smile. Daehyun lifts his head and furrows his brows.

“I’m not imaginary,” he pouts. “I’m your brother.”

Youngjae nods to placate the boy, persisting in his smile. This is the brother he conjured up when he was much younger as he wanted company.

“I’m happy that you missed me.” Daehyun’s eyes crinkle at the sides. “After Mama made us not see each other anymore, I was really lonely.”

“Mama?”

“Mm. Our Mama.” Daehyun looks up with hazy eyes, reaching out to thumb Youngjae’s cheek. “You don’t remember.”

“Wait, what happened?” Youngjae blurts, frowning in confusion.

“Mama said I was bad,” Daehyun whispers. He pulls back and kneads his fingers like a child that had done something he wasn’t supposed to do. He shifts away from Youngjae.

“My mother said you were bad?” Youngjae lowers his voice, trying to coax more out from the little boy.

“Mm. I was a bad brother.” Daehyun pulls his knees up to his chest with a downcast look.

“What did you do?”

“Mama said if you kept talking to me, nobody would want to be friends with you. They would bully you. So we could only talk at home.”

Youngjae parts his lips, a bit weirded out by the course of his dream. This conversation feels a bit too lifelike for his liking.

“Then, after that...” Daehyun hides his face in his knees and mumbles, “Mama said I was like my Papa. So I couldn’t see you anymore. Not even when nobody is looking.”

“My father?”

“No, no. My Mama is your Mama. But my Papa isn’t your Papa.” Daehyun glimpses at Youngjae with a disappointed look. “You forgot.”

“A long time ago, Mama had me. My Papa is a really bad man.” Daehyun’s voice shrivels.

Youngjae curls his fingers. “What did he do?”

“Mama didn’t want to. But my Papa forced her to.” Daehyun wraps his arms around himself miserably. “He forced her to. Then, she had me.”

Youngjae flutters his lashes, trying to piece together Daehyun’s words. He swallows at the worst conclusion his mind churns out.  _It’s just a dream_ , he reminds himself, but the discomfort still persists.

This boy is much too familiar to be a dream.

“I see,” Youngjae whispers. “Do you know your Papa?”

Daehyun shakes his head, his watery expression on the verge of tears. “Mama hates Papa. I don’t want to be like Papa. I don’t want to. He’s a really bad man.”

“You’re not. Don’t worry,” Youngjae soothes. He picks up the boy when Daehyun reaches out, wanting a hug. The small boy sits on Youngjae’s lap and embraces Youngjae tight.

“I don’t want to hurt Youngjae,” he mumbles into Youngjae’s shirt. “I’m not my Papa.”

“Mm, you’re not. You’re definitely not,” Youngjae pacifies as he rubs the boy’s back.

“Then why does Mama hate me?” Daehyun whispers forlornly.

“She doesn’t-”

“She does,” Daehyun protests. “She threw me away. Then, she didn’t let me see you because she says I’m just like Papa. She says I’ll hurt you. I’m not like Papa. I’m not.”

Daehyun begins sobbing into Youngjae’s chest, clinging tight. “I’m not like Papa. You know that, right? I’m not.”

As the boy incoherently weeps, Youngjae ends up at a loss as to what to do. He hugs the boy gently and whispers some lulling words into the boy’s ear. He doesn’t understand what the boy blurted, but it sounded much scarier than what any 4-year-old should be spouting.

His mother threw him away? His mother didn’t let them meet?

It is a dream, after all. It’s not meant to make sense. He’ll forget about it once he wakes up.

“The attic.”

Youngjae leans back at the sudden remark to meet the boy’s eyes, Daehyun keeping his head lowered.

“The attic,” Daehyun repeats. “I’m there. Mama locked me in there.”

His fingers grips Youngjae’s shirt, crumpling the fabric. “I’m there, Youngjae,” he whispers. “Mama locked me in there. She said if I came out, I’d be just like my Papa.”

Youngjae licks his lips, an uncomfortable thought pricking at his consciousness. The altar in the attic, the toys strewn all over, the joss sticks there… and the banner.  _Like father, like son._

Daehyun takes Youngjae’s amulet into his hands. He heaves, “Behind the tablet. Turn it around.”

Abruptly, the world disperses into darkness. The boy disintegrates in his grasp as Youngjae watches in horror, trying to grasp onto some semblance of the vanishing boy. What’s left is solely black, gnawing up to his throat and consuming his entire being.

 

 

 

Youngjae wakes up in cold sweat, shooting up from the couch with a pant. It’s morning. The sun burns against his skin, the curtains blustering in the strong wind. Youngjae stumbles off the sofa and to the bathroom, splashing his face with water.

The nightmare doesn’t dissipate from his memory, unlike majority of his dreams that flitter away into nothingness minutes after he awakes.

Heat simmers in the silence but Youngjae feels strangely cold. He whips his head up and stares at the ceiling when the customary marble sounds ring out. One, two, three marbles all bouncing off the floor at one go—exactly the same number of marbles in the attic. The cacophony disappears within seconds.

Youngjae steps up the stairs. He holds his breath as he reaches the top, peeking in. Of course, there’s nobody. He’s getting too paranoid because of a dream.

Youngjae clasps his amulet to alleviate his anxiousness. Obviously, it’s only a figment of his imagination. What did he expect to find? An actual boy shrouded behind the curtains?

Youngjae loosens his shoulders. He stops when he notices the marbles on the floor instead of in the box he’d put them in.

He must have dropped it out. Youngjae recites the thought like a mantra, carefully placing the marbles back. He glances to the blank tablet and squeezes his wrist.

It’s silly. He shouldn’t follow instructions from a dream. He’s 23, for god’s sake. All that happened was a figment of his imagination, having been influenced by the drawings of an imaginary friend from decades ago.

Yet, Youngjae prays and extends his arm out. He picks up the tablet and flips it around. On it, he finds inscriptions of Chinese and Korean characters—

A name.

Youngjae stills. His throat goes dry as his eyes rake over the carvings, deep and invulnerable to forgetting.

_Daehyun._

Youngjae presses his hand to his forehead, reading the name over and over again. The details scribbled underneath are harder to discern but Youngjae makes out his mother’s name listed as _Daehyun’s_ mother. It writes that he was born and he passed on 7 years before Youngjae was born—in the same year.

The door slams and Youngjae nearly drops the tablet. Wind blusters in and rolls the dog-eared edges of the banner on the door.  _Like father, like son._ His mother probably put it up here—of course she did, his father can’t write in Mandarin.

Is it true?

Something cold grazes Youngjae’s neck. He hastily places the tablet back and nearly trips darting down the stairs. Youngjae bursts out the front door and onto the streets, a few passers-by glancing over quizzically.

He evens out his breathing, gaining some relief from the presence of other people as he clasps the nape of his neck. He glances back to the house and briskly meanders down the sidewalk.

Could it all be true? Was his imaginary friend just a half-brother all this time? What happened to him? That boy said his mother— _their_ mother—threw him away. What does that mean? Was he killed as a newborn? And what he said about his father and being locked up because his mother thought they were the same…

It can’t be true. Does that mean his mother was taken advantage of? His mother never told him any of it. Youngjae scrunches up in hurt just confronting the possibility that it could have happened, anger bruising within his ribcage.

Youngjae paces more frantically, his legs taking him turn after turn to nowhere. That imaginary friend, all the self-talk that lasted till he was in primary school, was he actually talking to someone? So, he was speaking to a ghost? That’s ridiculous.

That boy—Daehyun—said he was locked in the attic because his mother thought he was just like his father. His mother wouldn’t have done something like that. She’s always been so kind and loving. But how would he know? His mother could have wanted to protect him and took unfair precautions, spurred by her trauma.

Youngjae falters in his footsteps and comes to a stop. His expression scrunches up with hurt and forlornness as he turns back to stare at the path he walked. He used to race with someone down this stretch of road. Thick lips, strong nose, large eyes.

Wind trickles past his hair and a fallen flower drifts along the asphalt and hits his foot. Youngjae pinches his nose bridge and releases a hefty sigh.

Maybe he’s thinking too much. It could just be a coincidence. Is he honestly going to believe he was talking to and playing with a spirit his entire childhood? The name on that tablet could refer to anyone. It could be one of his father’s ancestors. Maybe he doesn’t understand what’s written on there; it wouldn’t be the first time his mother’s religious scriptures have confused him.

Exhausted even though it’s mid-morning, Youngjae drags himself to the convenience store, lounging outside on a stool as he refuses to return home. Eventually, after the afternoon wanes, he summons enough bravery to go back. He’s an adult now and the only one left in the family. If not him, then who?

He strides back to his home and falters at the doorstep. Leaving the door open behind him, Youngjae steps in and expectedly meets only silence.

He cautiously meanders around the house, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. A draft pulls along his hair to waltz and tickles him gently.

There are no marble sounds for the rest of the day.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**fu zhai zi huan**

_Daehyun/Youngjae,[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dggBqS9xlvI&list=PLflKpEjRZwlfOAcuR1dRDU1scvMkDR91W)_

 

 

Youngjae dreams. He reluctantly rises, having been curled up uncomfortably in his old and much too small bed. The sheets are plastered with cartoonish images of spaceships. Youngjae remembers he has a pair of matching pyjamas for this specific set of bedsheets--two decades ago, that is.

It’s morning. Youngjae instinctively shifts back at the sight of the boy in the corner, playing with Youngjae’s car. He,  _Daehyun_ , looks distinctly older—he’s taller and bigger than before, though he's still a child.

Daehyun raises his head. “You found me.” He rolls the car over the building blocks, melting into a small smile.

“You didn’t like hide and seek because you couldn’t find me, so I’d tell you where I was hiding before we started playing.”

Youngjae flutters his lashes, still warily clenching his fingers around the bedsheets. It seems like he fell straight back into the same dream from last night. Again, he’s lucid, fully conscious that he's actually asleep. While this boy, the same boy from before, is here continuing a conversation they left off with ease. 

It feels too real and too strange to count as a dream. But there's always the possibility that his overactive mind could have concocted a dream world for him to have a conversation with himself. In spite of the logical argument, Youngjae still approaches Daehyun carefully.

Daehyun shifts over to get more building blocks.

“You look older,” Youngjae quietly comments.

Daehyun tilts his head. “I’m 6 years old.”

“You are older.” Youngjae’s voice reeks of hesitance. “Can you change your age?”

“Mm. But I’m not brave enough to do it.” Daehyun speaks with a maturity incomparable to the other children his age. “But because you got older, I became older with you too.”

“Why?”

“You wanted me to celebrate your birthdays with you.”

Silence whelms the room, afterthoughts left unsaid. Daehyun darts around and gathers supplies for the tower he’s making, aiming to put a ramp above it.

“Are you really my brother?” Youngjae whispers.

Daehyun nods, a slight trace of an upset look grazing his face. “Mama told you about me a long time ago. You forgot.” He resumes playing, more preoccupied with making his tower sturdy.

Youngjae squeezes his wrist nervously. “About all the things you said the last time… are they true?”

Daehyun hums, absentmindedly shifting around the blocks.

“My mother really locked you in the attic?”

“Yes,” Daehyun murmurs. “But you opened the door, so now I can go out.” He proffers a cute smile, eyes turning into crescents. “I can play in the other rooms now.”

“Oh.” Youngjae nears the boy, kneeling beside him. He examines the boy’s features and vaguely digs up memories of running in the garden with another boy.

“I’d follow you around,” Daehyun says as he squats, moving around funnily to grab more blocks, “and we always played together. It was fun.”

“Do you remember when you fell into the pond?” Daehyun sits, expression softening at the memory. “Someone wanted to pull you down but I fought him. Your Papa saved you later.”

“Who wanted to pull me down?”

“The other spirit. He wanted a replacement so he could go up there,” Daehyun explains. He gets up and briskly walks out of the room, startling Youngjae. Youngjae follows behind apprehensively before he notices the boy looking through the fridge. He blithely takes Youngjae’s potato chips and stuffs his mouth with it, doe eyes looking up to meet Youngjae’s.

“That’s unhealthy,” Youngjae chides, stopping to wonder why he’s bothering about a diet of a boy in his dream.

“Mama only gives me the same snacks. It’s boring.” Daehyun sulks, darting around Youngjae and hugging the bag of chips. He patters to the couch and eats contentedly.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae starts as he sits with the boy. He stares at Daehyun, trying to comprehend the presence before him. “You said my mother stopped us from talking.”

“Mm, when you were 8. Because people kept bullying you for talking to me. They said it was weird.”

“So, you stopped talking to me because my mother forced you to?”

“No, Mama didn’t force me to stop talking to you. But I didn’t want you to be bullied, so I stopped.” Daehyun exhales quietly. “It was lonely. But it’s okay. I could still see you at night. We would play together and talk, like now.”

Youngjae’s shoulders fall at the look over the boy’s face—a bittersweet concoction of woe yet acceptance.

“Then, my mother locked you in the attic afterwards? When?”

Daehyun presses the chips to his chest, evidently afraid. “Um, when you were 12 years old.”

Youngjae touches his amulet, running a thumb over the ridges. It was around this time his mother took his amulet back. “Why’d she do that?”

“I don’t know. Mama suddenly said I couldn’t see you anymore. She took me away from you and put me in the attic. She and this scary man put some things on the door so I couldn’t leave. It was painful to go out.” Daehyun slouches in sheer dejection.

“But I really missed you,” Daehyun whispers, eyes billowing with sorrow. “I missed you so much. So, even though it was painful, I still went out to find you.”

“Then Mama locked me back in and said if I went out, I would hurt you. She said I’m the same as my Papa.” Daehyun covers his ears and whimpers, “I’m not my Papa. I’m not. I will never hurt you. Mama said if I didn’t leave the attic, I won’t be like my Papa. So I stayed.”

“It was lonely, but I don’t want to be like my Papa. I don’t want to hurt you.” Daehyun’s arms slide over his head like hiding from a dreaded thunderstorm. “Mama says my Papa hurt her. I don’t want to do that to you.”

Youngjae’s heart plunges into his guts as the boy’s eyes well up with tears. He gingerly winds his arms around the small boy and comforts him with light pats. It’s still hard to wrap his mind around the situation, but if all this is real, he can’t believe his mother would do such a thing.

Can he? He still isn’t sure what Daehyun’s talking about, but the potent thought lingers with a formidable clarity—his mother was raped. Youngjae’s heart scrunches up in a gnawing ache, feeling unbelievably sorry for both his mother and a boy innocent of his father’s sins.

“If all this is true…” Youngjae breathes, looking down at the tearful boy. “I’m sorry my mother did this to you. I’m really sorry.”

“No, why are you saying sorry? You didn’t lock me in the attic.” Daehyun crumples Youngjae’s shirt in his hands, pressing his forehead to Youngjae’s chest. “It’s okay. Mama did it to protect you. I want to protect you too, so it’s okay.”

Youngjae’s face falls. He brushes the boy’s cheek and murmurs. “You don’t need to protect me.”

“I must. I’m your brother.” Daehyun churns out a small smile beneath his tears. “Big brothers have to protect their younger brothers.”

“You’re older than me?” Youngjae chuckles. “I think I’m older than you.”

“Before that, I was a little older. Just a little.” Daehyun forgets about his sadness as quick as a child would. “I’ll grow older next time when I see you.”

Youngjae bites his lip. “Next time?”

“Mm.” Daehyun plays with his fingers. “Youngjae?”

“Yeah?”

“The marbles… I always play with them. I’m sorry for being noisy.”

Youngjae blinks. “O-Oh, it’s okay. You can play with them. I really don’t mind,” he returns, a little taken aback by the mention of the marbles. Yesterday, the sounds of those marbles scared him out of his wits.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Daehyun murmurs. He sucks in his cheeks thoughtfully as Youngjae turns flustered.

“No, I do-”

“Tomorrow, I’ll drop the marbles three times.” The potato chips bag crackles noisily as Daehyun picks it up once more. “In the afternoon.”

“Wait, what?”

Daehyun strolls back to Youngjae’s room and Youngjae follows in a cloud of confusion. As Daehyun rounds the corner, the walls bleed black into an absolute void.

 

 

 

For the whole morning, Youngjae stays watching the clock. He runs his bony fingers over his knuckles over and over again as the anxiousness scrapes at his skin. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Does he really expect the second hand to strike twelve and the sound of marbles to cut through the silence?

If it does happen, would Youngjae believe it? He bites on his nails, a bad habit that had spawned in primary school and dwindled away after Junhong began slapping his hand every time he did so.

Afternoon comes. Youngjae keeps utterly silent, closing some of the windows so the surrounding noises don’t interfere. He jolts when the kettle whistles and whips his head at the gush of air from the outside.

Nothing. Four hours pass painstakingly slow, unravelling Youngjae’s tense state into a better sanity. Disillusioned and incredulous at how much time he wasted, Youngjae wrenches open the windows and goes to take a shower. Obviously it’s not real. He’s gradually losing it after the death of his mother.

Brewing himself a cup of green tea, Youngjae flings himself onto the couch and rests an arm over his eyes. His hair drips through the towel over his head and he tries to empty his mind. He wonders what Jongup’s doing now. Unlike Youngjae, Jongup actually does something with his life, most of his free time invested in his passion for dancing. He’s out there meeting people, competing, learning, while Youngjae coops himself at home and reads.

Youngjae heaves. He should get a hobby instead of reading his days away. It makes him wonder sometimes if there’s a problem with him, lacking an interest that most his age would have. He’s always felt rather empty for some reason, despite doing decently well for his studies.

Youngjae sighs, eyes closed as he churns out some ideas. He could probably look to carpentry since his father adored it in his later years. His father tried to involve Youngjae in his hobby but Youngjae didn’t have as much aptitude for woodwork as his father possessed.

Then, it starts.

Once.

Youngjae takes a moment to register the clinking sound. He immediately pries his arm off and sits up, eyes large as he surveys his surroundings.

Again.

Youngjae trembles. The marble sounds aren’t the usual ones, as if somebody dropped them on the ground. Instead, it sounds as though a single marble is knocking against the floor—deliberate, careful, slow.

Youngjae gets up as his heart pounds against his ribcage. His fear keeps him from going into the attic but his curiosity pulls him to stay in the house.

Again. Three times, as said. Youngjae swallows the lump down his throat to get a proper breath, adrenaline making him nauseous.

He waits. Ten minutes pass, but nothing else resounds from the attic. Youngjae inhales the fragrance of Chrysanthemum and exhales a fervour he can’t differentiate between amazement or terror. He doesn’t know if he should believe it.

Youngjae cautiously ascends the stairs, following the scent. He steps into the room and curls his fingers behind his back. His heart is palpitating at a ridiculous ferocity and his palms are sweating. Yet, the atmosphere simmers with a misunderstood placidity.

“Daehyun?” The name rolls off Youngjae’s tongue with an unexpected loudness. He isn’t even sure what he’s doing, yet he speaks with a conviction that somebody else lives with him.

He grips his shorts as his eyes rake over the room. The marbles are still in the box where he kept them.

A child’s shriek resonates from outside, startling Youngjae. He looks out the window at the two boys playing with one another, feet pattering over the asphalt as they chase each other. Their burst of giggles evokes a nostalgia he can’t put his finger on.

A breeze trails past his neck and leaves a white flower petal caught behind his ear. Youngjae picks it off his hair and turns around.

He goes out and sits in the garden, musing to himself for several hours until evening starts to set. Fuchsia dyes his skin from his head down to his toes while Youngjae immerses in the sounds of everyday conversations.

He steps back into the house when darkness fully wraps around the town. The streetlights breathe a warm tungsten along with the cricket chirps. Youngjae bundles himself up in his mother’s blanket and drifts off into sleep.

 

 

 

As expected, Youngjae dreams. He gets out of bed and notices Daehyun peeking into the room. He’s taller and his jawline is more prominent. Just as Youngjae parts his lips to speak, Daehyun sprints off.

Youngjae roams to the garden to find Daehyun sitting on the grass, nervously clamping his hands over the leaves. He looks like he’s in his pre-teens.

Youngjae ambles towards him. Daehyun bashfully lowers his head as Youngjae kneels in front of him.

“Um, hi,” his voice is still high-pitched.

“Hi,” Youngjae whispers. “Can I sit here?”

Daehyun nods. Youngjae plops onto the grass and crosses his legs, unsure of where to start.

“Do you believe me now?” Daehyun asks quietly.

Youngjae presses his lips together. “Mm, sort of,” he confesses. “I could hear you drop the marbles but I couldn’t see you.”

“Yeah. Now that you’re older, you can’t see me as easily.” Daehyun glances at Youngjae and averts his gaze once Youngjae delves into his eyes.

“How old are you?”

“12 years old.” Daehyun rubs his arm. “You look really old.”

“I do?” Youngjae touches his face.

“No, not that kind of old!” Daehyun hastily clarifies. “You just look a lot older than when I last saw you.”

“When was that?”

“When you were 12. Before Ma locked me in the attic.”

“Oh,” Youngjae softly returns.

A tranquil stillness simmers over them, moonlight melting into the leftover rain puddles.

“You’re really my brother,” Youngjae verbalises, hoping to comprehend the fact better. His half-brother, a spirit, a friend he had throughout his childhood.

“Yes.” Daehyun squeezes his wrist. “How have you been?”

Youngjae stares at him and muffles a delicate laugh, surprising Daehyun. “Sorry. It’s just funny that, well… I should be the least of our concerns.”

He waves away his words. “I’m fine.”

“You’re 23 years old?”

“Yup. I’m in college now. I have one more year to go before I graduate.”

Daehyun offers a tiny smile. “Wow. You’ve grown a lot. Ma told me about what you were doing but seeing the real thing is…” His eyes fog up as he smiles harder.

“Ma told you about me?”

“Yeah. Because I was locked up, I couldn’t see you, so she’d tell me about what was happening with you.” He scratches his neck with some sheepishness.

Youngjae slowly nods. “You are free now, right?”

“Mm. You opened the door so I can go wherever I want now,” he explains. “It’s weird to go out, though. Ma’s passed on, but I’m still scared. I’m sad that she left, too.”

Youngjae’s stare softens. It’s surprising he’d still be sad over his mother’s death when he was locked up by her. Then again, if he’d said _good riddance_ or something along those lines, Youngjae would have been pretty pissed.

“You’re nice, Daehyun.”

Flustered, Daehyun blurts, “Why?”

Youngjae shakes his head. He digs through the foggy memories he has of Daehyun, all punctured with gaps. The incomparable exhilaration lingers despite the lack of details. He knows he loved his imaginary friend like a brother, and he knows why now.

It’s hard for him to internalise it. He feels guilty for forgetting when Daehyun seems to never have let him go. Youngjae had brushed him off as a figment of his imagination while Daehyun lived imprisoned in the attic.

The reality is slowly breaking through to him, bit by bit. Youngjae’s throat tightens as he takes in the boy before him, Daehyun awkwardly fiddling with his shoelaces. That was his brother he played with all throughout his childhood. He was trapped in the attic all this while and Youngjae conveniently forgot about him, growing out of what the world termed a childish phase.

Heat pricks Youngjae’s eyes. His mother was cruel, even if she did it to protect Youngjae. Because she feared Daehyun would turn out like his father, she kept him in a small room where he couldn’t even roam the outside.

“Was it hard to live in the attic?” Youngjae whispers.

Daehyun purses his lips. “It was okay,” he mumbles. “It was really hard at first when I could only stay in the room and I couldn’t see you. But I got used to it.”

His hand clasp at the grass, memorising the texture as though it’s a foreign object. “I cried a lot at the start. I promised Ma I wouldn’t hurt you but she still didn’t let me out.”

“Ma didn’t let me go up to reincarnate, too. So I stayed in the attic for many years.” He counts on his fingers. “11 years.”

“But it’s okay.” Daehyun goes back to feeling the grass. “At least you were okay.”

Youngjae folds his lips as his eyes sting. “Why do you care about me so much?” He questions.

“Of course I care about you. You’re my brother. I love you,” Daehyun intones in a matter-of-fact tone.

Youngjae reaches out for the first time without hesitance, only with a pure earnestness. He strokes Daehyun’s head and a blush promptly crawls over Daehyun’s cheeks.

_Daehyun, I want a hug._

This is his brother. The boy who ran around with him when he had nobody else to play with, the boy who held his hand whenever he was afraid. It’s coming back little by little as he pieces Daehyun’s form into the memories he minimised and chucked away.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae croaks. “It must have been really hard for you. I’m sorry for not doing anything about it. And I’m sorry for forgetting you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Daehyun anxiously says. He gets up onto his knees and thumbs Youngjae’s tears away. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t like to see you cry.”

Youngjae chuckles. “But I remember I was a crybaby when I was young.”

Daehyun groans. “You were! It always made me feel really bad.”

Youngjae deliquesces into a bout of sweet giggles, drawing a smile over Daehyun’s face.

“I used to pull your cheeks so you’d stop, do you remember? And I’d make stupid faces to make you laugh,” Daehyun rambles.

“Sometimes I’d kiss you so you’d stop, too,” Daehyun laughs, pink brewing on his ears.

“I remember a little,” Youngjae hums. “Mostly having my cheeks pulled.” He pats his face. “I always wondered why my cheeks were so big.”

“Your cheeks have always been fat!” Daehyun argues. “That’s why your father called you a chipmunk.”

Youngjae squints at him and lets out a laugh.

Daehyun grins in response, gaze falling to the floor. “I thought it’d be awkward because you’re older now, but it’s not.”

“I’m glad,” Youngjae hums. “Will you keep visiting me in my dreams?”

“Do you want me to?” Daehyun nervously responds.

“I do.”

A delighted grin bursts over Daehyun’s lips. “I will!” He rubs his thumb and asks gingerly, “Can I follow you around like last time when you’re awake?”

“Sure,” Youngjae stifles a delicate laugh. “Just not into the bathroom.”

“I won’t!” Daehyun splutters. He smiles with a bashful proudness when Youngjae chortles harder.

“I won’t be able to see you though, right?”

“You can’t because you’re a lot older now. I won’t bother you,” Daehyun assures.

“That’s okay. It’s lonely at home.” Youngjae glances to the house withering in grey, not a single soul on the streets. “I’ll keep the door open for you.”

Daehyun nods fervently. They bask in a comfortable wordlessness as Daehyun fidgets.

“Do you still like animal biscuits?”

“Yeah, I do. Do you want them?” Youngjae flutters his lashes.

Daehyun nods gleefully. “I miss them. Ma only feeds me certain biscuits and they’re bland.”

He must be talking about the offerings, Youngjae thinks. “I’ll buy you those animal biscuits and some of my new favourite snacks.”

“Yeah!” Daehyun cheers. “I can’t wait.”

He glances to the sun peeking over the horizon and slumps. “You have to go soon.”

Youngjae follows his stare. “Um, I’ll come back tomorrow. We can spend time together some more then.”

Daehyun’s lips curl. “Okay.”

 

 

 

It’s painful. 8-year-old Youngjae sobs into his sleeve, bundled up in his blanket. He turns away when Daehyun touches his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Youngjae,” Daehyun sniffles, cheeks equally stained with tears. “Mama says-”

“I don’t care what Mama says! Why can’t you talk to me anymore?” Youngjae whimpers. He buries his face in his pillow.

“Because people will bully you,” Daehyun reasons, taking in a deep breath to stabilise his voice. “They can’t see me, so they think you’re talking to yourself.”

“So what?” Youngjae blubbers. “I don’t care! You’re my brother! You can’t just leave me like that! You’re a bad brother!” He gets snot over his pillow case.

Daehyun climbs into bed and embraces Youngjae tight. “I’m sorry.”

“You can! Just don’t listen to Mama,” Youngjae blurts, turning around to face Daehyun with teary eyes. “Won’t you be sad too if you leave me? Last year, when I wanted to go to Junhong’s place… you were sad. We promised that we wouldn’t leave each other.”

Daehyun brushes Youngjae’s tears away and presses their foreheads together.

“It’s different now. I don’t want you to be bullied,” Daehyun mumbles. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I already said I don’t care!” Youngjae yells petulantly. “You’re my best friend! If you go, I’ll hate you forever!”

Daehyun snivels, misery scrawled all over his eyes. “I can still see you when we’re at home. It’s not that bad.”

“It is! I don’t get to see you as much!” Youngjae chokes on his sob. Daehyun cups Youngjae’s cheek and presses their lips together. Youngjae hiccups, snot and tears still trailing down his face.

“I’ll always be by your side. It’s just that you can’t see or hear me there in the day.” Daehyun threads a hand through Youngjae’s hair and kisses the boy again.

“Really?” Youngjae murmurs, calming down just a little from his weeping.

Daehyun smiles. “Really. I promise. I’ll always be beside you.”

 

 

 

Youngjae awakes to the curtains fluttering and birds chirping outside his window. They disperse when he sits up, his eyes raking over his surroundings.

He washes his face and slowly ascends to the attic. He places a door stop to hold the open door firmly in place and lights some joss sticks, sticking them into the urn.

“I’m going to buy snacks for you,” Youngjae breathes. He leaves Daehyun with a smile and goes to shower. The sound of marbles scatters above his head.

Clad in a loose hoodie, Youngjae strolls to the supermarket, buried in his thoughts. He picks out lots of his favourite titbits: milk chocolate, shrimp crackers, butterscotch candy. He grabs some lollipops and a few packets of animal biscuits.

Youngjae spends a minute scrutinising the packaging. It’s nostalgic, even though the outside looks pretty different. He used to beg his mother to buy one packet for him and another for his imaginary friend. His father would always joke that he was using his imaginary friend as an excuse.

Youngjae returns home and places the titbits in some paper plates. Setting them in front of the altar, Youngjae heads downstairs to continue his novel.

He decides to keep a dream diary. It takes 2 hours for him to jot down everything, pausing every now and then as his musings take over.

He goes to sleep earlier today.

 

 

 

In his dream, Youngjae opens his eyes to his room from decades ago, wallpaper sky blue with some car sticker decorations by his bed. Daehyun sits by his bedside, much younger than before. He’s playing with Youngjae’s action figures and making exaggerated sound effects.

“Boom!” He yells, groaning and falling back. “Oh no! The evil king has defeated us!”

Youngjae smiles down at him. “Am I the evil king?”

“No, no! You’re here.” He takes out a purple action figure squashed under his back. “You were sleeping. I called you so many times but you didn’t wake up. That’s why you’re lying there. Because you’re sleeping.”

“How old are you?” Youngjae asks as he slides down to the floor.

“3 years old. What about you?”

“I’m 23 years old.”

Daehyun snivels. “You’re old.”

“Thank you.” Youngjae picks up his superhero and joins Daehyun’s action figure. Daehyun excitedly jumps up and pushes his action figure together with Youngjae’s.

“I think we can defeat the evil king together,” Youngjae hums. He shakes the villain figurine and gasps, “Oh no, I think he’s getting away.”

Daehyun shrieks in exhilaration, scampering around the room and hitting the villain figurine with his own action figure. They play for a long while, coming up with more and more scenarios. Later, Daehyun curls up in Youngjae’s lap and kisses his cheek.

“Youngjae,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Youngjae.” Daehyun laughs out of nowhere and rises, jumping onto Youngjae’s back. He kisses Youngjae’s neck and snuggles against him.

“Youngjae. You came back. You really did.” He kisses Youngjae’s skin again with a sloppy gentleness.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Youngjae chuckles.

“You smell nice.”

Youngjae squeaks when Daehyun bites him lightly, the boy dropping off Youngjae and screaming as he patters out of the room. Youngjae briskly follows him, much to Daehyun’s enjoyment.

They draw a picture of them at an amusement park, Daehyun spluttering about all sorts of attractions. Later, Youngjae chases Daehyun in the garden. He’s cheeky and full of vigour, ducking behind bushes where Youngjae can’t reach him.

When Daehyun tires himself out, Youngjae carries him to the bedroom and puts him in bed. Daehyun refuses to let go of his shirt.

“You’ll come back tomorrow, right?” Daehyun murmurs.

“I will.” Youngjae strokes Daehyun’s hair like a mother would. Daehyun melts into a contented smile and shuts his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the feedback! I'll reply them tonight <3

 

**fu zhai zi huan**

_Daehyun/Youngjae,[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJY7Y05QbRQ)_

 

 

Youngjae wakes up to a feathery touch on his lips. After breakfast, he takes a long walk around his neighbourhood. He wonders where his mother is.

At night, he falls asleep to an old song on the radio, one his father used to play as he read his newspapers.

 

 

 

_是谁在敲打我窗?_

_Who is it that knocks on my window?_

_是谁在撩动琴弦?_

_Who is it that strums the violin strings?_

_那一段被遗忘的时光,_

_That period of time that's been forgotten,_

_渐渐地回升出我心坎._

_Slowly rises up from my heart._

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams. He emerges from the bedroom to Daehyun—but he ends up staring at just his feet. He raises his gaze up to find Daehyun is much, much taller than a 3-year-old should be.

“I’m 15, if you’re wondering,” Daehyun coughs. His face has lengthened and his height is almost up to Youngjae’s lips.

Youngjae lets out a sweet chuckle. “So this is how you look like when you’ve hit puberty. You’re handsome.”

Daehyun flushes. “Oh.”

They sit in the garden, Daehyun shifting just a little bit closer. The night is cool and the cicadas chirp amongst them. Fireflies flitter above their heads and Youngjae gazes up at them in awe.

“Your dinner looked really good,” Daehyun remarks.

“Oh, I cooked that,” Youngjae proudly announces. “It’s nothing much. Just fried noodles.”

“Yeah, I saw you cooking it. You’re really talented.” Daehyun grins.

“I’m not, I learnt it from my-” Youngjae stops midway, almost speaking about his mother in front of Daehyun.

“From someone I know,” Youngjae concludes. Daehyun nods, not minding the abrupt pause.

“Um, do you want me to cook it for you?”

Daehyun’s eyes promptly light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s no trouble. I’ll make it for you tomorrow. As dinner.”

“Wow, thanks,” Daehyun breathes, licking his lips. He thinks for a moment.

“Uh, about what you said just now… Thanks.”

Youngjae tilts his head. “What did I say just now?”

“You, uh, said I was handsome.” Daehyun clears his throat. “So, thank you. Sorry I didn’t thank you earlier. Uh, you’re- you’re really pretty- I mean, beautiful.”

“You’re being so shy when we’re brothers,” Youngjae chuckles. “And ‘pretty’ is for girls.”

“Flowers are pretty and you look like a flower, so…” Daehyun musters a sheepish smile.

“I look like a flower?” Youngjae purses his lips. “No one’s ever said that about me before.”

Youngjae lies down and rakes his eyes over the infinite expanse of midnight blue. It’s amazing to think this is a dream. But then again, can he really consider this as one?

For the last decade he lived believing he was an only son. Technically, he is, but to have a brother is such a foreign feeling. It makes Youngjae feel warm.

Daehyun lies down beside him. Their shoulders touch. Youngjae lets his thoughts drift away, wondering about where his mother is. Does she reside in the realm Daehyun does? Is his father still here, perhaps watching over them until the end?

“Daehyun, can I ask you something?” Youngjae lowers his voice.

“Sure, you can ask me about anything.”

“Do all people… go where you are now?”

“I don’t think so,” Daehyun hums. “People who die normally go somewhere else. Because Ma aborted me, I didn’t die naturally, so I think that’s why I’m stuck here on earth.”

Youngjae winces, remorse constricting his windpipe. Daehyun flashes him a smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m not mad about it anymore. I was a long time ago,” Daehyun reminisces, rolling onto his side. “It’s scary to be stuck here. I was aborted but the others here…”

Daehyun looks around, seemingly examining things Youngjae can’t see. “They’re scary,” Daehyun continues. “Some of them die in really gruesome ways. I don’t know why but for people like me, we look normal, but those other people look the way their corpses did. We don’t talk to each other, too.”

“It was lonely and scary. I was really angry with Ma for leaving me here,” Daehyun sighs. “But I understand too. It was hard for Ma. She would have kept me if she could.”

Youngjae’s chest sinks, blue seething into his heart. “How long will you be stuck here?” He whispers.

“Until the day I’m supposed to die,” Daehyun returns casually. “I heard from the medium that I can go earlier, but Ma didn’t let me.”

“Why not?” Youngjae rebounds in utter shock.

Daehyun shrugs. “There’s some ritual that will let me go up there. Only Ma can do it, but she didn’t want to. Now that she’s left, I have to stay here no matter what.”

He exudes an earnest smile. “But it’s okay. I didn’t want to go up anyway since I wanted to protect you. When we were separated, I really wished I could leave since it was hard to live in the attic. But now…”

Daehyun glances away, still persisting in his smile. “We can be together again, so it’s okay.”

Youngjae exudes a lengthy breath. He gazes for a long time at Daehyun while the boy shies away from his scrutiny, awkwardly squirming.

“Why do I mean so much to you?” Youngjae finally asks, guilt dripping from his voice.

“Because you’re my brother. I love you,” Daehyun briskly finishes his last sentence, voice shrivelled.

Youngjae wheezes. “I wish you could go where you’re supposed to. My mother- our mother… how could she have been so cruel to you?”

He stares up at the sky, a plethora of emotions suffusing him. He’s more than angry at his mother and he feels so unbelievably sorry that Daehyun has to live like this—but it’s his mother. She’s always been sweet and kind. Why would she do this to Daehyun? Is it because he’s also the child of her assaulter?

Youngjae shuts his eyes as feelings clash within him, the discomfort amplifying tenfold. It’s a more-than-difficult scenario he’s confronting as an outsider. Maybe his mother didn’t mean to hurt Daehyun so much.

“I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here and watch over you.”

“I’ve told you before, right?” Youngjae says tenderly. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I want to.” Daehyun reaches out and after looking to Youngjae for permission, gently places a hand on Youngjae’s head. “Even if you’re older than me now, I’ll still always take care of you.”

Youngjae reaches up to touch Daehyun’s hand with a smile. Daehyun swallows and red pricks into his cheeks.

“You’re really sweet, Daehyun.”

“I’m not,” Daehyun coughs. He daringly takes Youngjae’s hand and looks away, lips quirking shyly. “Let’s stay together. Forever.”

“Okay,” Youngjae returns. He misses the dazzling smile Daehyun simmers into.

 

 

 

After Youngjae awakes, he spends the day cleaning the house. For dinner, he cooks two plates of fried noodles. He brings both up to the attic and turns on the light, eating there in silence as his eyes rake over the talismans.

He looks to the large banner by the door. It’s scary how huge the words are, as if it’s screaming out. _Like father, like son._

Most of all, it’s cruel. Youngjae gets up and tears off the banner, a few of the talismans coming off as well. Something tickles his cheek and he whips his head to see nothing, only the curtains fluttering as night dawns.

After throwing out the plate of noodles, he brings his book to the attic, along with a pillow. As sleepiness seeps over him, he sees a silhouette over him, smiling softly.

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams. Today, Daehyun is 7 years old, eyes shimmering and vibrant. He gushes over Youngjae’s cooking and holds Youngjae’s hand as they walk around the town.

“You fell here. I remember, because I cried really hard when you did,” Daehyun hums.

“I think I remember,” Youngjae says, stopping by the swings to muse. “I swung too high and fell onto the floor. My forehead was bleeding.”

“Mm. I felt so useless, watching you cry,” Daehyun remarks. He squeezes Youngjae’s hand. “I didn’t protect you even though I should have.”

“You’re not useless,” Youngjae chides lightly. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“I am. I’m supposed to protect you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to.” Youngjae crouches down and squeezes Daehyun’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, okay?”

They continue strolling, Youngjae filling in all the details from the day they were separated. He talks about life in secondary school and how he had a few friends here and there. Himchan stuck with him the longest. He was annoying at first, ordering Youngjae around, and Youngjae often complained about him to Junhong. But in their third year, he became nicer after sharing more about his personal life at home and how he missed his mother.

As expected, Daehyun chews Himchan out, making Youngjae giggle till tears form along his lashes. Daehyun holds his hand tighter as he rambles on.

Before Youngjae leaves, he gives Daehyun a hug and chuckles when the boy kisses him on the lips.

 

 

 

It’s raining. In a memory-like dream, Youngjae is 11 years old and he’s long stopped talking to himself. Ever so occasionally, however, he may glance somewhere and part his lips as if he’s about to speak to an old friend.

He gets pushed in school, snickers following as a group of older boys slink away. Junhong sneers at them but they ultimately brush off the boys again. They’re a nuisance, but they’re not like Junghoon who damaged Youngjae’s property and hurt him.

The wind blows as Youngjae briskly walks home. He quickly shuts the door to his room and calls out for Daehyun.

Daehyun emerges with furrowed brows, obviously displeased. Youngjae blinks up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re still getting bullied, Youngjae. It’s not a one-time thing like you said.” Daehyun tosses himself by Youngjae’s side, still fuming.

“It’s nothing big. They just bump me around sometimes,” Youngjae remarks.

“And that’s not bullying?” Daehyun clenches his fist. “Seriously, I’d hit them if I could.”

“I don’t want you to. You always disappear after you do something like that.” Youngjae heaves.

“I told you that I’m still with you, right? It just takes up a lot of energy, so you can’t see me.” Daehyun pulls his lips to the side.

“Still, I don’t want you to hurt anyone.”

Daehyun blows at his fringe. “Fine.” He rolls over and nudges Youngjae to face him so they can embrace one another. “Ma says you’ll stop getting bullied once we stop talking but it still happens.”

Youngjae lights up. “I don’t mind if you come back to me in the day. We can talk in secret.”

Daehyun shakes his head. “It’ll make the bullying worse if people catch you still doing that. Besides, your father doesn’t like it.” Annoyance scratches into his eyes as he fumes, along with a drip of helplessness. He stares at his hands and curls his fingers with a sigh.

“Are you angry with me?” Youngjae asks.

“No, I’m not,” Daehyun answers. He runs his fingers through Youngjae’s hair. “Just… angry at myself.”

“You’re weird,” Youngjae snickers. Daehyun pats his cheek as Youngjae whines.

“I wish I could protect you.” Daehyun slumps, biting on the insides of his cheeks. “But I can’t. Because I’m not in the same world as you,” he dejectedly says.

Youngjae clasps Daehyun’s hand with a radiant smile. “It’s okay. I just want to be with you.”

 

 

 

The cycle goes on—of days spent alone and nights spent with his brother that the world remains oblivious to. Daehyun disperses into whispers through Youngjae’s hair in the mornings and tickles over Youngjae’s palm in the afternoon. Sometimes, Youngjae hears innocent laughter along with the marbles sounds in the attic.

His books keep him company when the sun is up. Youngjae starts to turn in early despite once being used to 4AM reading spells. The Chrysanthemum fragrance becomes his lullaby and he hugs his mother’s pillow to sleep.

Daehyun is always younger than him though he changes his age frequently. Occasionally, he’s a mere child, too young to understand his place in a world that doesn’t accommodate his kind. Other times, he knows he lives on the other side, older but naïve enough to still fear the spirits that reside with him. They have fun playing in the neighbourhood. Daehyun wins at hide and seek always since he cheats, vanishing into thin air. He likes to blabber about times 5-year-old Youngjae would sob, unable to find his brother.

They visit the playground at the park frequently. Youngjae pushes Daehyun on the swing and muffles a laugh when Daehyun squeals, 4-years-old and more bright-eyed than ever. At this age, Daehyun loves to pounce on him. He has a bad habit of turning his kisses into bites, but thankfully, his baby teeth doesn’t leave any marks.

They talk mostly instead of playing if Daehyun’s above the age of 12. Youngjae tells him of the things he’s been through and new inventions in the last decade. Anything under the sun, really. Daehyun listens attentively, regardless. They sometimes speak of heavier topics like Daehyun’s time in the attic.

The oldest Daehyun has been in his dreams was 18, taller than Youngjae by a little with narrow shoulders and a dashing smile. Youngjae thinks he would have been popular with the girls if he had lived.

Thoughts like this make Youngjae tear up frequently—of what could have been. Because Daehyun could have played with him and the other children at the playground when they were 4. He could have ran back home from primary school each day into their mother’s arms. They could have sat together at recess in secondary school, growing out of an awkward phase where voices crack and pimples sprout along their foreheads.

It hurts to think of it. It hurts even more to know Daehyun suffered more than he should have because of Youngjae and his mother. Youngjae can’t imagine being trapped in a place for a decade, staring at the same four walls.

It truly must have hurt Daehyun a lot, Youngjae often thinks. So he cries quietly when these thoughts come to him. If they dawn in the day, he wipes his tears by himself while the wind caresses his cheek. If they spark in his dreams, Daehyun wipes his tears for him like he did a decade ago.

For every lost minute, for every lost second, Youngjae tries to make up for it by dedicating his dreams all to his brother.

 

 

 

“Youngjae?”

Youngjae’s dream today is brighter than usual, lampposts brimming with a stark luminance. Youngjae bends down slightly to hold the 6-year-old boy’s hand better.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Daehyun bubbles.

Youngjae flushes. “I’ve never had one.” He picks Daehyun up and the boy elatedly clings on to him.

“Why are you asking such a question? You’re only 6 years old.”

“I know what’s a girlfriend,” Daehyun proudly states. “Why don’t you have one?”

“I don’t know. I guess girls don’t really like guys like me. I’m not handsome or charming,” Youngjae embarrassedly exhales.

“But you’re pretty?”

“Stop calling me that.” Youngjae pinches Daehyun’s cheek, earning a loud whine from the pouting boy.

“No.” Daehyun sticks out his tongue.

“Then we won’t go to the playground today.”

“So what?” Daehyun retorts, resting his head on Youngjae’s shoulder.

“It’ll be boring,” Youngjae reminds.

“Anywhere is fun with you.” Daehyun rubs his cheek on Youngjae’s neck, making the older man squeak.

“That tickles,” Youngjae chortles. Daehyun does it again, evoking more laughs from Youngjae.

“Stop that. I’ll drop you.” Youngjae carefully nudges Daehyun’s face away and smiles warmly at the chirpy grin Daehyun wears.

“Come on. Let’s go play.”

 

 

 

Apricot sunshine douses Youngjae’s form in the attic. He rouses to the scent of Chrysanthemum and the echo of marble sounds fading.

He buys a green toy bus from the toy store and places it by the altar in the attic.

For tonight, he sleeps in the attic again.

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams about periwinkle and poppies. He opens his eyes to the sight of nightfall and a figure by his side. Youngjae flutters his lashes as he takes in Daehyun’s face. He’s significantly older than before—the oldest Youngjae has ever seen him.

Daehyun has the green toy bus in both hands, admiring it. He glances over and a smile promptly trickles over his lips.

“Hey.” His voice is deep.

Youngjae rubs his eyes. “Hi,” he softly returns.

“I’m 23, if you’re wondering,” Daehyun fills in. He clasps the green toy bus tight.

“Wow. You’re as old as me.” Youngjae sits up and the blanket falls to his hips. He doesn’t remember sleeping with one.

“I am. It’s a big jump, isn’t it?” Daehyun chuckles. He tenderly nudges away Youngjae’s hands so he stops rubbing his eyes.

“Thanks a lot for the toy. It’s really cute.”

Youngjae juts out his lower lip. “If I’d known you’d be 23 today, I wouldn’t have bought you a toy.”

“I still like it, anyway.”

Youngjae spends a long moment examining Daehyun’s face. If he thought Daehyun was handsome at 18, Daehyun at this age is much more attractive. His jaw is more angular and he boasts thicker arms. He would definitely have been a ladies’ man.

“Is there something on my face?” Daehyun brushes his own cheek with the back of his wrist.

Youngjae chuckles. “No. I was just thinking you’re really good-looking.”

Daehyun grins, some bashfulness to his words, “Thanks. You too.”

“That’s the first time someone’s told me that besides my parents.” Youngjae rises and Daehyun follows, the pair exiting the attic and heading for the front door.

“It must be difficult for your friends to afford glasses.”

“You’re pretty smooth,” Youngjae remarks lightly. “Girls would have been all over you.”

“I’m surprised they’re not all over you.”

Youngjae narrows his eyes jokingly. “I’m your brother. Stop flirting with me. It’s gross.”

Daehyun lets out a hearty peal of laughter, melting like a fireplace in winter.

They sit in the garden as Daehyun sprawls himself over the grass, staring at Youngjae as if he’s the skyscape. Youngjae lies beside him on his side, hands curled up against his chest.

“Why’d you grow up to this age?” Youngjae asks in curiosity.

Daehyun shrugs. “Just felt that I was ready tonight.” He glances to his hands, now wider and calloused.

“After talking about girls yesterday?” Youngjae teases. “You’re sneaky, aren’t you? Using your 6-year-old self to ask me that question.”

“Hey, we barely even talked about that. And how’s that even related?” Daehyun guffaws. “It’s not like there are any girls here that I like.”

He extends an arm. Faltering for a moment, Daehyun thumbs Youngjae’s cheek with a delicateness hard to encapsulate.

“So, you really don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Stop rubbing it in my face.”

“I’m not. I’m just surprised.”

Youngjae puffs up one cheek. “That I’m single at this age?”

“You’re being difficult. Don’t twist my words.” Daehyun pinches Youngjae’s nose and Youngjae whimpers, rubbing his nose with a pout.

“You’re really beautiful, so that’s why I’m surprised,” Daehyun lowers his voice. “Did you ever like anyone?”

“No, actually,” Youngjae replies after some consideration.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve always felt kind of empty throughout my teen days. Maybe that’s why,” Youngjae muses. He glimpses to Daehyun. “Or maybe it’s because we were separated. It still makes me upset that I forgot about you so easily.”

“I’ve told you before, right? It’s not your fault. The medium did it.” Daehyun’s lips quick at the ends. “Well, I hope the emptiness is because of me.”

“I think so. I probably felt your absence even if I couldn’t put it into words,” Youngjae thoughtfully says.

Daehyun chuckles. Youngjae blinks when Daehyun squeezes his cheek.

“You’re really cute.”

Youngjae swats Daehyun’s hand away. He carefully questions, “Do you wish you had somebody?”

“A little,” Daehyun hums.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Youngjae murmurs, his shoulders falling in dejection.

“Why are you saying sorry? I’m not sad over it, so don’t be.” Daehyun crosses his arms behind his head. “I just think that… if I had somebody, I’d love and protect them with all my heart.”

“That’s sweet. In your next life, your wife will be really lucky.” Youngjae musters up an encouraging smile.

“Thanks,” Daehyun abashedly replies. He tilts his head before grinning. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

“No,” Youngjae replies.

“So, the only people who’ve kissed you are your parents and me.”

“Is there a point you’re trying to get across?” Youngjae prods Daehyun’s forehead. “I know I’m a lonely man, okay? If I could get a girlfriend, I would.”

Daehyun guffaws. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“Then why’d you bring it up?” Youngjae pokes Daehyun’s forehead again. Daehyun grasps his hand and squeezes it.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Yes.”

Youngjae squints at Daehyun before rolling over, facing away from Daehyun. Daehyun promptly apologises with a merry laugh, placing a hand on Youngjae’s hip and guiding him back.

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know why I brought that up too.”

“Weirdo.” The grass nuzzles against Youngjae’s cheek as Daehyun keeps his hand on Youngjae’s waist.

Daehyun shifts closer. Their breaths touch each other’s lips just a little like a drop of feather.

“What shall we do today?”

Youngjae purses his lips. “I can push you on the swings like yesterday,” he jokes.

“I don’t think you’d be strong enough.” Daehyun arches a brow.

“You don’t weigh the same as an elephant. I can manage.”

“How about I push you instead?”

“I can push myself. I don’t need you.” Youngjae stands and brushes his pants, walking towards the park. Daehyun laughs and briskly strides over to keep up with Youngjae, grasping his wrist.

Later, Daehyun pushes Youngjae while he’s on the swing anyway. Youngjae nearly topples over at one point and he chases after Daehyun, the two grown men running in circles around an empty park. Daehyun lets Youngjae catch him and they tussle on the floor, tickling rather than hitting.

They lie on the floor, panting heavily. Youngjae reaches over and vaguely finds Daehyun’s face, smacking him lightly.

Daehyun pushes him away. “It’s like we’ve never been apart,” he exhales in wonderment. He simmers into a heartwarming laugh. “11 years but nothing has changed.”

He reaches over and falters for a moment. Finally, he plucks up the courage to interlock their fingers.

“I can do this when I’m 23, right? Or do I have to be 6?”

Youngjae laughs and he answers by shyly holding on. It’s a little awkward but they’re brothers, anyway. It doesn’t matter.

Silence clouds the space between them, nothing but the mementoes of laughter trapped within. Youngjae turns over.

“Is there anything you want for tomorrow? Like snacks or toys?”

“It’s alright. I have enough fun just following you around,” Daehyun cajoles.

“But I barely do anything.”

“It’s still fun. I like to be with you.”

Youngjae melts into a minuscule smile. “You’re as boring as me.”

“Hey.” Daehyun pinches him.

Youngjae squeals and nurses the sore spot. Daehyun threateningly reaches out again while Youngjae scrambles away.

 

 

 

Warmth tickles Youngjae’s skin as his eyelids draw open to the scent of flowers. He glances to the window to find a cherry blossom on the sill.

Curling up in the covers, Youngjae takes a few minutes to pull himself out of bed. He takes a bus to the next town where a carnival is currently being held.

By himself, Youngjae goes on several rides. He takes the ferris wheel by himself and leaves the seat beside him empty. On the roller coaster, he thinks it would have been nice if he had a brother to accompany him. One who would win him soft toys and share cotton candy with him.

As evening sets, Youngjae returns home. He basks in a long shower and emerges with prune fingers. Jongup calls to ask how he’s doing and says they should go out some time.

At 9 o’clock, Youngjae falls asleep to the sound of windchimes.

 

 

 

The first thing Youngjae opens his eyes to is Daehyun. He crouches by the bedside, palm caressing Youngjae’s cheek. Youngjae tenderly removes his hand and squints his eyes shut when Daehyun pecks his forehead.

“Hey,” Daehyun breathes. He has the same physique as before, so he must be 23.

“Mm, hi.” Youngjae gets out of bed. They settle on the couch while Daehyun eats the crackers Youngjae left for him.

“Your face while you were on the roller coaster was so funny,” Daehyun mentions lightheartedly.

Youngjae stretches out his arm and slaps Daehyun in the chest. “I went on those rides for you, FYI.”

“I know,” Daehyun chuckles. “Thank you. Though, I was a little scared on the ferris wheel. I thought if I went too high up I may go up to heaven, if there is one.”

Youngjae erupts with laughter while Daehyun grins triumphantly.

“We should try again. I’ll go climb Mount Everest.”

“You should go on a space expedition,” Daehyun snickers. “Jokes aside, it doesn’t work. So don’t worry about going too high.”

“Is there really no other way?” Youngjae breathes.

“Yeah, there isn’t. But it’s okay.” Daehyun shifts closer and rests his head on Youngjae’s lap. He’s more touchy as compared to his teenage self.

“You’re your 23-year-old self again.”

“Mm. I like being the same age as you. I used to grow with you every year, after all.”

Youngjae smiles. “You should continue growing with me.”

“I will.” Daehyun grins back. “What should we do today?” He says it like two decades ago under the oak tree in their garden.

“Anything you want,” Youngjae replies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone, thank you so so so much for your feedback IT REALLY MAKES ME SO WARM AND TOUCHED ;///v///; YOU GUYS ARE THE SWEETEST. i've taken all of them into consideration and i've made some changes but not very major ones ^v^ i'm sorry for not replying your comments, i will reply next next week after my exams are over. TnT <3 thank you for reading~

 

 

**fu zhai zi huan**

_Daehyun/Youngjae,[playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJY7Y05QbRQ)_

 

 

In the morning, Youngjae goes to watch a movie. He chooses a seat with the neighbouring chair unoccupied. Afterwards, he plays at an arcade by himself.

He sleeps in his own room tonight, leaving an extra blanket on the empty side of the bed.

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams. His eyes flit open to a dim tungsten lighting, an arm draped over his waist. He turns around to find Daehyun resting beside him, wrapped up snugly under the extra blanket.

“Daehyun?” Youngjae utters. Daehyun’s 23 again.

“Mm?”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.” Youngjae rolls over and nearly bumps his head into Daehyun’s.

“I was just resting,” Daehyun fills in. He opens his eyes and a lovely smile blooms over his plump lips.

“Are you tired?” Youngjae’s voice immediately raises in concern. Daehyun chuckles and shakes his head.

“Just thought it’d be nice if we could stay still for today. It reminds me of when we were younger.”

“Yeah, it does.” Youngjae dwells on his foggy reminiscences where two boys lay in bed, snoozing away their afternoon under the same blanket.

He glances down when Daehyun’s arm tightens over his hips. Their foreheads touch and Youngjae instinctively looks away, uncomfortably shy. Daehyun does not seem to notice, basking in his nostalgia.

“Youngjae?”

“Yeah?”

“It really hurt when you left,” Daehyun murmurs.

Youngjae’s expression softens. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

Daehyun offers a small smile, exuding a lengthy sigh. “I’m sorry for suddenly bringing it up. I just…”

He thumbs Youngjae’s cheek. “I’ve never experienced the full feeling of dying… but at that moment, when Ma said I wasn’t allowed to ever see you again, I thought maybe that was what it felt like.”

Youngjae bats his lashes forlornly. “Daehyun,” he breathes.

“I just kept crying, begging Ma to let me out, but she didn’t. Every time I tried to leave she’d remind me that I was just like my father.”

Daehyun brushes their noses. “You know, I really hate my father for what he did to Ma. For making me such an unwanted child that my own mother would kill me, that I would have to stay in a place like this.”

“I’ve told you before, right?” Daehyun muses. “It’s scary. You see the dead here who can’t go anywhere, moaning, dragging themselves around, not knowing where to go, what to do… I was a child then and it scared me so much. So I stuck to Ma even though I hated her for killing me.”

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Daehyun lowers his voice apologetically, “and I don’t like to bring it up because I’m not proud of it.”

“When I first saw you… I was so jealous,” Daehyun confesses. “Why did you get to live while I was stuck here, alone? I really hated you because of that. And I tried to do a lot of bad things to you.”

He lowers his voice. “I was the reason you were always so sick when you were young. That time, when you fell out of the attic window… It was me who pushed you. I’m really sorry for that.”

Youngjae cringes. Daehyun rubs his lower back, soothing him with more apologies.

“You got to live, you had a family while I had to suffer alone… It felt like you stole everything from me. At that time, I could only see you as bad.” Daehyun flutters open his eyes and presses their foreheads together, reducing the gap between their faces.

“So, it really surprised me when you let me play with your toys,” Daehyun laughs. “Luckily, I was a kid then, so since I always wanted to play with those toys, I stopped bothering you as much.”

“Then, we became closer. I stopped feeling lonely. It was scary being alone in the other world, but at least I had you to accompany me.”

Daehyun shifts near, as if wanting them to meld into one. “You really made my time here so much better. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. You were the only reason I was happy with what I was; without you, I’d be just like the others here. Empty, meaningless, waiting to disappear.”

He brings up a hand to caress Youngjae’s cheek. “I’m not upset anymore that I didn’t get to live. If I had, I don’t know if you’d even be here. Would your father still have married my mother? Maybe not.”

Daehyun gazes into Youngjae’s eyes with a luminous smile. “I’m okay with the fact that I didn’t get to live if it means I get to meet you.”

Youngjae’s eyes well up with tears. “Don’t say this kind of things,” he wheezes, feeling a soul-crushing weight trample on his lungs.

“But I really mean it,” Daehyun chuckles as he dashes Youngjae’s tears. “It’s why I felt like I had no reason to go on anymore when Ma kept us apart. I begged her to let me go so I could move on but she didn’t want to. Being trapped there, away from you… I still think that was hell. The only thing I had to look forward to was hearing about how you were.”

Youngjae sobs. Tears streak down his cheeks as he whimpers, shoulders rising and falling sharply. Daehyun stifles a chuckle and brushes away Youngjae’s tears, kissing his forehead softly.

“Crybaby.” Daehyun presses their lips together. The kiss lasts for a brief few seconds but it still leaves Youngjae startled.

“It always works. You stopped crying,” Daehyun chuckles, thumbing Youngjae’s lips. He wipes away the remnants of Youngjae’s tears.

“I love you,” Daehyun breathes. “I’ll stay by your side forever. You’ll always have me to take care of you. I promise.”

Youngjae sniffles. They become innocent 5-year-olds again, hiding under the blanket from the heinous thunderstorm. Naïve, hopeful, and full of love.

“I’ll take care of you too,” Youngjae breathes, embarrassment shading his expression. It’s awkward for a 23-year-old man to say these things but neither he nor Daehyun minds in a world composed of just them two.

 

 

 

It’s dim. 7-years-old Youngjae stands by a tree in Spring as Daehyun weaves a white flower into his hair. Youngjae makes a soft noise when Daehyun nuzzles their noses.

“Do you think Junhong really thinks I’m weird for talking to you?”

Daehyun instantly frowns. “You’re not weird. He can’t see me so it’s his problem.”

Youngjae muses, “He said he’d be my friend, so it’s not bad, right? I have a friend now.” He flashes a bubbly smile.

Daehyun stares at him. “Yeah.” He scavenges for more flowers on the ground.

“He’s funny. I like him, Daehyun. I hope we’ll become good friends so we can play together a lot.”

Daehyun doesn’t reply. Youngjae squats down to level their eyes and continues, “I’ve always wanted a friend. It’s lonely with just the two of us.”

Daehyun reaches up and picks the flower out of Youngjae’s hair. He seems to step on it by accident after dropping it.

“I didn’t know you were lonely.” Daehyun roams away and Youngjae follows.

“Well, it’s boring with only two people. It’ll be more fun with three.”

“You’re right. It would be fun for you with someone else.”

“It would. I want to play with someone new.” Youngjae grins. “I wonder when he’ll show me his remote-controlled car, Daehyun. I’m excited to see it.”

“Why don’t you go see him right now?” Daehyun murmurs. “You know where he lives.”

“Should we?” Youngjae blurts in exhilaration. “Will he get mad? I really want to play with it.”

Daehyun doesn’t bother looking at him. “He won’t. Go find him.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” Youngjae chirps.

“I’ll stay here. You go find him.”

Youngjae stops in his footsteps. “Why?”

“I don’t want him to think you’re weird. He might get scared.” Daehyun lifts his eyes, aloofness to his gaze.

Youngjae bats his lashes. “Oh, yeah.”

“Go,” Daehyun says, plucking a flower from the shrub and littering its petals on the ground.

“Um, okay. I’ll see you later.” Youngjae turns on his heels and paces towards the stoplight. He glances back with some discomfort, not used to being apart from his brother.

“Bye, Daehyun!” Youngjae yells. Daehyun spares him a single glance and returns to pulling the flower buds off the bushes.

As Youngjae reaches the traffic light, he kneads his fingers restlessly. This is the first time he’s left Daehyun. It doesn’t feel right to go without him, even if he wants to see Junhong’s toy. He wants to play with it together with Daehyun.

Youngjae turns and dashes back. He slows down when he finds no one by the tree.

“Daehyun?”

Silence. Youngjae scours the area, sprinting down the road. “Daehyun!” He yells. Still, his brother remains nowhere in sight.

His heartbeat doubles its speed as the faceless people round him, casting him curious glances. Youngjae begins heaving as the anxiousness clambers through his chest. His eyes dart frenziedly over the place and he runs all the way back to the tree in case he missed Daehyun.

“Daehyun!” Youngjae screams. He starts to tear up when he sees nothing within the shade of the tree, only flowers scattering about.

“Daehyun, where are you?” He howls, squatting down and burying his face in his hands. He muffles his sobs before the thought that Daehyun could be at home hits him. He scurries back home with his heart in his throat, only for it to plummet when he combs the house and finds nothing.

“What are you doing, Youngjae?” His mother asks concernedly as Youngjae rubs away his tears to clear his vision, needing to check every room in the house. She tails the boy who scampers here and there, nearly overturning every furniture in sight.

“Mama,” Youngjae weeps, “Daehyun. He’s gone.”

“What?” Youngjae’s mother kneels down and dashes away Youngjae’s tears. She feels Youngjae’s chest to find the amulet missing.

“What happened?” Youngjae’s mother whispers.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault!” Youngjae wails, wet warmth messily streaking down his face. “I- I wanted to visit Junhong and Dae- Daehyun didn’t want to come with me, so I left him, and now he’s gone!”

Youngjae’s mother embraces him, stroking his head placatingly. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. Daehyun will be back.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Youngjae cries. “It’s all my fault. I’m so stupid!”

“Don’t call yourself that, Youngjae. He will come back,” Youngjae’s mother assures. “He loves you. He’ll definitely come back. Maybe he just went to explore.”

“Mama, Daehyun won’t get lost, right? What if he’s lost?” Youngjae sniffles, burying his teary face in his mother’s shoulder. “I’m so scared.”

“He won’t. Daehyun’s a smart boy. He knows the way home.”

Youngjae nods, miserably holding on to his mother for comfort.

Darkness gnaws in quickly, evening sun dwindling into a consuming darkness. Youngjae waits dejectedly by the door with his legs pressed against his chest. He jumps every time someone passes by, only to slump back on the floor when he realises it’s not Daehyun.

Youngjae barely finishes his dinner, glumly stuffing his food into his mouth and chewing slowly. He refuses to go to bed, relenting only when his mother promises to stay by the door to let Daehyun in.

Bawling silently to himself, Youngjae squints his eyes shut to fall asleep. He buries his face into his pillow every time a bout of sorrow floods him and claws out more whimpers.

Under his blanket, Youngjae snivels to himself and wipes away his own tears. He’s used to Daehyun whispering comforting words whenever his father reprimanded him.

Youngjae sobs once more. With a heavy heart, he quietly climbs out of bed and stands by the window. The streets are empty and it plunges his heart further into his guts.

Then, he hears a sound from behind him. Youngjae whips his head around to see a figure standing on the other side of the room, gazing at him without a word.

“D-Daehyun?” Youngjae doesn’t bother making out what could be the monsters in the dark he fears so much. Instead, he darts over and whimpers when it turns out it is indeed Daehyun.

“Daehyun, it is you!” Youngjae cries, eyes welling up with tears. “You came back! I thought you were gone forever…” He tightly hugs his brother and melts into Daehyun’s warm, safe grasp.

Daehyun rubs Youngjae’s back soothingly. “Why are you crying?” He murmurs.

“Because I couldn’t find you!” Youngjae blubbers. His tears drip onto Daehyun’s shirt as he nestles into Daehyun’s tender touch. “Where did you go? I called you so many times but you didn’t reply!”

“I left since you wanted to go play with Junhong,” Daehyun mumbles. He leans back and cups Youngjae’s cheeks, interrupting the flow of tears.

“I didn’t go play with Junhong. I didn’t like not being with you. I was at the traffic light and I turned around, and you were gone!”

“I’m sorry.” Daehyun hugs Youngjae tight and caresses his head. “You chose to leave me so I left.”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Youngjae whimpers. “I just wanted to see Junhong’s toy car.”

Daehyun gazes at Youngjae for a long while before exuding a long sigh. He presses them closer, rubbing their cheeks against one another.

“No, I’m sorry.” Daehyun heaves again, his breath a little shaky this time. “You can go to Junhong’s house without me. It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to,” Youngjae petulantly says through his sniffles. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Daehyun presses a kiss to Youngjae’s cheek. He leads Youngjae to the bed, the two boys crawling under the covers. They hold hands in the dark as Youngjae curls up as close as he can to his brother.

“I was jealous,” Daehyun mumbles. “You left me behind for Junhong.”

He looks to be on the verge of tears as he inches closer. “I only have you, Youngjae. You can find other people but I have nobody else. If you leave me behind, I’ll be all alone.”

Youngjae whimpers. “I’m sorry,” he blubbers. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

Daehyun snivels. “You promise? It’s really scary to be all alone. I don’t want to go back to having no one to talk to.”

“I promise!” Youngjae cries out. “I’m sorry for making you feel bad. I won’t ever do it again. I’ll always keep you company.”

“Okay,” Daehyun breathes, pressing their foreheads together. “You promised.”

 

 

 

The days flitter by. Daehyun stays 23 in Youngjae’s dreams, comfortable with Youngjae’s age. They spend their nights together in a world that exists only when Youngjae slumbers. It’s only when we sleep are our souls given temporary sovereignty from its vessel. In this space, our souls wander, and they sometimes meet lost spirits from the other realm in the form of nightmares or strange dreams.

Daehyun is kind. He loves Youngjae like a father would yet spends their time together like a brother. He’s funny too and takes pride in making Youngjae laugh.

The house feels more alive even if Youngjae is technically the only person living there.

April blossoms fluttering around Youngjae’s dream, reflecting the season as they go by. Daehyun and Youngjae sit together on the roof of their house.

Daehyun wraps his arm around Youngjae’s waist and nudges the other man closer.

“Yeah, he’s really nice to his girlfriend. He takes some of her classes so he can learn the material and teach it better to her.”

“Wow,” Daehyun breathes in response. His fingers drum a rainy rhythm into Youngjae’s side. “This friend of yours is really nice.”

“Himchan didn’t used to be like that. His girlfriend really changed him.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you meet someone who changes your life. You become a different person,” Daehyun remarks.

“That’s true.” Youngjae twiddles his fingers. “I hope I’ll be able to meet a girl like that someday.”

“I’m sure you will meet someone like that,” Daehyun hums. He rests his head on Youngjae’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I always talk about what I want in the future,” Youngjae lowers his voice.

“What’s wrong with that? I like to hear about your dreams.”

Youngjae keeps mum. With how familiar they’ve become over such a short time span, he’s becoming careless with his words. How insensitive of him to speak of his future when Daehyun has nothing lying ahead of him. Youngjae can have the privilege of getting married and settling down but Daehyun will only be able to follow him around.

Youngjae parts his lips to speak when Daehyun abruptly presses their lips together. He kisses softly for just a moment before pulling back with a teasing grin.

“Don’t look so sad. It’s really fine. I like hearing you talk about anything,” Daehyun says.

Youngjae blinks sharply while his mouth burns with the leftover wetness. His cheeks flare red and he discreetly folds his lips to rid the discomfort. Daehyun’s gestures have been getting more intimate and it’s admittedly difficult to get used to. As someone with pretty much no dating experience, any intimacy scares him off like a timid rabbit. He understands though that Daehyun’s used to this as they kissed often as children.

“Okay,” Youngjae breathes. They wallow in silence as Youngjae relaxes into Daehyun’s grasp.

“When we were separated, what did I do?” Youngjae gingerly asks as the thought drifts into his mind.

“Well, I heard you crying outside the attic. Ma tried to calm you. Then, the medium said he’d inhibit your ability to see into this realm,” Daehyun reminisced. “I never heard from you after that.”

Youngjae wheezes out blue as guilt permeates his irises. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, despondency dripping from his words. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there, Daehyun.”

He squeaks when Daehyun kisses him again. “D-Daehyun?”

“Don’t be sad. I told you, it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But I wish I had done something for you. I wish I helped you escape. I just… lived a whole decade of my life not knowing you were suffering.”

Daehyun suddenly kisses Youngjae again. Youngjae whimpers when Daehyun nips at his lower lip, reaching up to nudge Daehyun away.

Daehyun inhales deeply and melts into a lovely smile as he observes Youngjae’s face. “You’re blushing,” he laughs.

“T-That’s because you suddenly kissed me!” Youngjae protests in embarrassment.

“We used to kiss all the time, though.” Daehyun guffaws harder. “Do you have a crush on me?”

“No, what the heck! We’re brothers!” Youngjae splutters in horror.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you. You’re really cute, Youngjae. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Youngjae petulantly purses his lips, sulking to himself. Daehyun taunts him by puckering his lips and Youngjae shoves him away.

“You’re okay with me kissing you when I’m younger but you’re shy now?” Daehyun grins. “What changed?”

“I’ll hit you. I will.” Youngjae threateningly raises an arm.

“I just want to know why you’re shy about it,” Daehyun chuckles as he intertwines their fingers. “Is it because it tickles?”

Youngjae narrows his eyes at him.

“I’m not teasing you, really! I’m just curious,” Daehyun assures.

Youngjae sucks in his cheeks. “Yeah, it tickles,” he mumbles. “I haven’t had a lot of experience. I’ve told you before.”

Daehyun erupts with laughter and Youngjae hits him lightly. Daehyun swoops Youngjae into a snug embrace and his lips brush over Youngjae’s ear.

“It tickles for me too,” he breathes. “But I like it.”

Youngjae squirms. Daehyun leans back and pulls Youngjae’s cheek, evoking a whine from the man.

“I want to go for a walk.” He climbs down from the roof and helps Youngjae down, interlocking their hands once more.

 

 

 

It’s stuffy. Youngjae has just turned 11 a month ago. He hides in the cupboard with Daehyun, sadly picking at the lint on his clothes.

Youngjae rests against Daehyun’s chest while Daehyun hums a pacifying song.

“I hate it when Ma and Pa fight.” Youngjae relaxes as he follows the melody. “The house becomes so quiet.” It feels that way, strangely, despite his parents not being talkative people in the first place.

“They’ll make up. They always do,” Daehyun comforts.

“Mm. Thank you, Daehyun. You’re always here for me.” Youngjae shuts his eyes. “I hope we’ll stay together forever.”

“We will. I won’t go anywhere.”

Youngjae smiles against Daehyun’s shirt. At an age between pure innocence and breakthrough maturity, Youngjae starts to understand what Daehyun is. He resides in a space different from Youngjae and only Youngjae can see or hear him. Recently, he feels like just paper, and it’s scary.

Yesterday, his family visited the temple. The medium there said Youngjae would not be able to see Daehyun after a few more years—or even earlier. Youngjae had gotten angry and stormed back into the car. Daehyun assured him they would be able to see each other still in their dreams, what they often do when they don’t spend enough time together in the day.

His parents seemed to have fought because of Daehyun. Daehyun had been out picking flowers while Youngjae overheard just a snippet of the argument. His mother wanted Youngjae to keep his amulet but his father didn’t.

 _How can it be healthy for a child to live with a spirit for the rest of his life? Just because it’s your son… You put_ our _son in danger? Kwangmin asked me yesterday if it was true Youngjae had a mental illness! The whole town thinks our son is crazy!_

_Sure, he doesn’t talk to himself outside the house but he hasn’t stopped. Don’t lie to me! I can hear Youngjae talking to it when he’s in his room._

_How long more? The medium said he’ll stop but how long more? By that time my son is going to be treated like a nutjob for real!_

Youngjae wheezes. “I’m sad that we can’t be together.”

Daehyun sighs, immediately understanding the meaning of Youngjae’s words. “I’m sad too.”

“You really can’t…” Youngjae drifts off, eyes billowing with gloom.

“I don’t know,” Daehyun says quietly. “That old man said I can’t until a long time later. I don’t know if I’ll meet you even if I reincarnate.”

Youngjae heaves, curling up against Daehyun. “I wish you were alive,” he whispers. A sudden sorrow crawls over him as he presses his arm against his watering eyes. “I wish you were here with me. Pa wouldn’t be angry and Ma wouldn’t be so sad.”

“I’m really sorry for making your parents fight.” Daehyun apologetically threads his fingers through Youngjae’s hair, kissing away his tears. He holds Youngjae closer. “I really wish we didn’t have to be like this. Maybe I should just stop talking to you.”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I wish you were alive, Daehyun. Why won’t I be able to see you when I’m older? It’s so unfair.” He sniffles. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Daehyun exhales a low, long sigh. “I’m scared of that too.”

“I hate Pa,” Youngjae whispers. “He doesn’t like me talking to you.”

Daehyun brushes his lips over Youngjae’s cheek. “I know. Maybe one day he’ll separate us for good.”

They dwell in a burdensome silence, tragic in a way that takes away the naivety Youngjae wishes he could keep. He doesn’t know what it means for Daehyun to not be alive.

“Youngjae.”

Amidst the darkness, Youngjae glimpses up at Daehyun.

“If you could, would you stay with me?”

“Stay with you?” Youngjae tilts his head.

“Yeah. Where I am,” Daehyun says quietly. Youngjae stares at him for a moment.

“Mm, I’d like that. I’d rather be with you than lose you.”

Daehyun offers a small smile in return.

 

 

 

Morning comes with a splash of sunlight, tingles dancing along Youngjae’s lips. His dream shatters into the start of another day as he plods to the bathroom for a shower.

Today, he stays at home, turning on the television though he isn’t watching. He makes two plates of curry and eats at the dining table with nobody.

He sleeps with the extra blanket by his side.

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams to the tune of rustling leaves, autumn drafts pulling along the common cold. He makes out the nose pressed into his hair and the arms wound tight around his hips.

“Hello,” Daehyun whispers, leaving a kiss on the nape of Youngjae’s neck.

Youngjae turns over and their nose bump. Daehyun laughs heartily as if he knows no sorrow of the past eleven years, being apart from the only person that made his time worthwhile.

Youngjae chuckles along.

 

 

 

It’s ticklish. 12-year-old Youngjae whines softly as Daehyun nips at his lips. He’s kissing longer and deeper than he used to, previously only chaste pecks between them two.

Youngjae fidgets and nudges Daehyun away. It makes Youngjae uncomfortable.

“Why’d you suck on my lips?” Youngjae frowns. He’s sitting against the wall while Daehyun hovers over him.

The space between them is small. Daehyun pants.

“You don’t like it?”

Youngjae rubs his neck. “Daehyun, I think only guys and girls kiss at our age. Those that are dating.”

“I mean, we’ve always kissed since we were young,” Daehyun hums. His eyes are unreadable and he averts his gaze, clearly harbouring something Youngjae doesn’t know about.

“Yeah, but… you kiss differently now.”

Daehyun furrows his brows. “So, you don’t like it? Does it hurt?”

“No, it just makes me feel weird. I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“It’s fine. You worry too much,” Daehyun remarks. He soothes Youngjae with an apology anyway.

“Sorry. Let’s talk instead.”

Daehyun rests on Youngjae’s chest, nose nestled into Youngjae’s shirt. He kneads the flesh above Youngjae’s hips tenderly. “How was school?”

Youngjae lets things slip too easily, following Daehyun’s change of topic.

“Today… We had cooking class. It was fun. Were you there with me?”

“I’m always there with you,” Daehyun hums, playing with the amulet. “Yeah, I saw you were laughing a lot. You almost forgot you were boiling the sausages.”

“Yeah, that was scary! But it was fun to cook with Kyungsoo. He’s good at it.”

Daehyun chuckles. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself.”

“Kiyeon bothered you again, hm?” Daehyun sighs as he draws circles into Youngjae’s skins. “He’s getting on my nerves.”

“Daehyun,” Youngjae says, a tinge of worry bruising in his words.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything. I’m not as powerful as you think I am.” Daehyun heaves. “I wish you’d let me, though.”

“It’s really fine, Daehyun.”

“He pushed you,” Daehyun’s voice hardens. “It was on purpose. I saw him waiting for you.”

“Well… someday, I’m going to meet people like that elsewhere. I have to learn to deal with it,” Youngjae states with a surprising maturity. “You can’t always protect me.”

Daehyun pulls his lips to one side. “I can try, if you let me,” he mutters. “But you don’t.”

“I have to get used to looking after myself.”

“Why would you not want me to take care of you when I can?” Daehyun clicks his tongue.

“Because Ma says it’s tiring for you. I want to be independent,” the brave words spill from an 12-year-old boy.

“I don’t mind if it’s tiring. What’s the point of having a brother if I don’t protect you?” Daehyun intones in annoyance.

“It’s hard for you,” Youngjae protests. “One day, I’ll get married and have to take care of my family. Ma says I can’t always rely on you.”

Daehyun narrows his eyes. “Sometimes, it sounds like you want to get rid of me,” he grumbles as he lifts himself off Youngjae.

“No, it’s not what I meant, Daehyun,” Youngjae frets. He edges closer to his brother and rests his chin on his knees. “It’s just… We stay in different spaces. It’s hard.” His words dwindle into a downcast whisper.

“It is hard. I always worry I’m not strong enough to protect you if something bad happens. I’d never forgive myself,” Daehyun shares with a wistful sigh, cementing his role as a big brother first and foremost. His eyes glaze with a mellow fatigue as he shifts to lie by Youngjae’s side.

“Especially since you are stupid and don’t let me help you.”

Youngjae grunts while Daehyun mischievously grins back. “I’m not stupid,” Youngjae retorts. “I told you that I can handle things myself. When you interfere, sometimes, you go overboard.”

For a long while, Daehyun keeps quiet, the two boys staring up at the peeling ceiling of Youngjae’s room.

Then, he sits up. “You’re still angry with me for what I did to Junghoon.”

“I’m not angry, I-”

“You still think I’m a bad person for pushing him.” Daehyun slouches, gaze trained on the wall as a thousand thoughts barrel through his mind.

Youngjae chews on his lip. “What you did was wrong.”

“Wrong? If I didn’t do that, you’d still be bullied up till now.”

“But you can’t… hurt him for that.” Youngjae’s voice shrivels, blatantly unwilling to broach the topic.

“So he can hurt you later, right?” Daehyun scoffs. The irritation starts seeping into his words. “How can you be okay with him hitting you and breaking your things?”

“I didn’t say I was okay with that,” Youngjae argues with a huff. “But you shouldn’t have pushed him.”

Daehyun snorts. “This is why I said you’re stupid,” he grouses. “You don’t even know when you’re in danger. If it’s not okay, why are you mad at me for stopping him?”

“Because you killed him!” Youngjae yells. “I don’t want you to kill people!”

Silence suffocates the two boys, Daehyun facing the wall while Youngjae apologetically clamps his mouth after his brash outburst. He watches Daehyun’s back while the other boy remains still.

“I’m sorry, Daehyun,” Youngjae murmurs. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

Daehyun doesn’t reply. Youngjae crawls over to sit with Daehyun and gently pecks the boy on the cheek. “I’m really sorry, Daehyun.”

It takes a while for Daehyun to spare him a glance. Daehyun relents with a dreary breath and lies back down on the floor.

“Do you ever see him?” Youngjae whispers, joining Daehyun once again.

“No,” Daehyun contemplates. “He’s probably wandering near his house, but I wouldn’t be able to recognise him because of what happened in the accident.”

Youngjae cringes sharply. “I don’t want you to do bad things for my sake, Daehyun.”

“I don’t regret it,” Daehyun immediately cuts in before Youngjae can continue. Youngjae gazes at him in disappointment while Daehyun stares back with no remorse.

“Because one day, he would have hit you harder, and you would have ended up where I am now. So, I don’t regret it at all.”

Youngjae keeps mum. He understands why Daehyun did it, but he doesn’t like the fact that someone has to die for it—no matter if it’s Junghoon who threatened to bash his head against the wall, all because he felt Youngjae was strange. Most importantly, he doesn’t want Daehyun to have blood on his hands because of him.

“It’s not that bad,” Youngjae jokes, earning an incredulous look from Daehyun. “If I went to where you were, I’d still have you.”

Daehyun halts. He shakes his head with a scoff of disbelief, but some amusement colours his face. He deliberates over it for a while more.

“Yeah,” Daehyun concludes thoughtfully. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad.”

 

 

 

It’s windy. Newly-turned-11-years-old Youngjae sits in his brother’s lap while the breeze ruffles his hair. Daehyun’s hands rests on Youngjae’s thighs while he nestles his nose behind Youngjae’s ear.

“I feel weird around you.”

The memory is foggy but Youngjae can feel the wind tickle his cheeks.

“How so?”

“My heart beats really fast,” the words slip out as a nervous whisper.

“Maybe you’re sick.”

“Maybe.”

Their fingers interlace and Youngjae leans back against his brother, shutting his eyes contentedly.

 

 

 

Youngjae opens his eyes as the memory falls apart into the chirps by his bedroom window. He mulls over it for a moment, recollecting the parts between the many gaps. His memories come back slowly but surely as if meeting Daehyun again triggered a lost portion of him.

He drinks coffee by the kitchen window, standing where his mother used to as she watched her son prance around the garden. A sparrow perches on the sill and accompanies him till he finishes the last drop of his coffee.

He spends his afternoon visiting a museum, perusing the exhibits leisurely. For dinner, he gets takeaway, eating ramen in the attic alone.

Youngjae sleeps in his mother’s bed tonight.

 

 

 

Dreaming of marigold skies, Youngjae sits with Daehyun outside a restaurant in his town. They hold hands over the table, Daehyun gazing endlessly at his brother while Youngjae scours the area. There’s always nobody besides them here in sight, but Daehyun says there are other spirits that wander. They groan as they search for a way out mindlessly, occasionally causing havoc in the world of the living.

“Yeah, I remember,” Youngjae breathes. “I nearly got hit by a bicycle here but I fell back. So, it was you that helped me… but I forgot.” He visibly deflates.

“It’s okay. I’ve said it before, right? The medium took away your memories of the otherworld.”

“I lost you afterwards, didn’t I?” Youngjae reaches up to fiddle with his amulet.

“Yeah.” Daehyun looks to his hands. “I’m not sure how exactly it works.”

“Well, don’t do that again, then. What if something went wrong?” Youngjae chides.

“How can I stand by and watch when you’re in trouble?” Daehyun prods Youngjae’s forehead.

“What if you disappear?” Youngjae heaves. “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are.” Daehyun looks away to the streets, seemingly watching people pass by the throngs.

He kneads Youngjae’s fingers. “Your time in the army really went smoothly?”

“Yeah. I was just a truck driver so I didn’t get much action.

“Lousy.”

Youngjae narrows his eyes. Daehyun broadly grin and brushes Youngjae’s cheek.

“I worried so much for you, you know? Ma told me you lived well but what if she was lying just to please me? You’re such a bad luck charm, after all.”

“I did get into several close shaves, huh?” Youngjae hums. He nestles against Daehyun’s hand.

“You did. Back then, when we were still together, I thought it was scary that you’d one day not be able to see me outside of your dreams. That you’d get married and I’ll be left behind.”

“But it’s nothing compared to the thought of you getting hurt.” Daehyun leans over and pecks Youngjae’s lips.

He rests on the table, hand still twined with Youngjae’s. “How I wish I was alive. To be able to touch you and hold you…”

Daehyun shuts his eyes. “If only we existed in the same place.”

Youngjae gently touches Daehyun’s head. “If only.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think… I’ll become like my father?” Daehyun’s voice drops to a terrified whisper.

“Of course not,” Youngjae immediately assures.

“Maybe Ma’s right. I came from him after all.” A bleak grey swallows up Daehyun’s eyes, the man zoning out for a moment. “One day, I might hurt you like you did to me.”

“No, Daehyun, you’re a good person,” Youngjae urges lovingly. “You’re not your father. Don’t let Ma make you think that.”

“Maybe not now, but later… Ma probably separated us because I told her I never wanted to leave you,” Daehyun mumbles.

“I’m just meant to be a guardian.” Daehyun pulls his hand away. “I can’t… I’m not supposed to stay with you for so long.”

“Ma probably knew I’d become… just like my father.” He begins kneading his fingers anxiously. “I’m not. You know that, right, Youngjae?”

Daehyun’s words border on a desperate plea. “Please don’t lock me away again.”

Sorrow clogs Youngjae’s lungs. “I’d never do that, Daehyun. You’re not your father. You’ll never be.”

“I’ll never think that, okay?” Youngjae shifts over and tenderly pulls Daehyun into a hug. “You aren’t your father. You are nothing like him and will never be anything like him.”

Daehyun breathes in deep. “You swear you’ll never think that?”

“I swear.”

Daehyun presses his nose against Youngjae’s neck and inhales. “Thank you, Youngjae.” He plants a kiss Youngjae’s skin and whispers once more, “I’m really happy. To have met you. My existence is so miserable but because of you…”

Youngjae trembles. He gently nudges Daehyun away to no avail, Daehyun nibbling on Youngjae’s neck tenderly.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae wheezes. He whimpers when Daehyun kisses a sensitive area under his jaw.

Youngjae pushes harder and Daehyun relents, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He embraces Youngjae tightly and presses their cheeks together.

“I love you so much,” Daehyun exhales with a stunning earnestness. “I only have you, Youngjae. I’ll always have you only. I’m so scared you’ll leave again.”

“I won’t. I swear.” Youngjae rubs Daehyun’s back placatingly, still wincing in discomfort at the saliva over his neck. It feels unnervingly real despite it being a dream.

“Don’t worry, okay? We’ll always be together.”

Daehyun nods.

 

 

 

It’s burning. Youngjae is 12 years old and he feels fabric underneath him. His vision is foggy and heat stings against his skin.

“I feel so warm.”

Youngjae breathes harder. He can’t make out whatever hovers above him.

“Around you, I always feel…”

Youngjae writhes, his breathing growing erratic. He parts his lips but no sound bleeds from his throat. Something burns against his hip like seething fire. He jolts at a touch on his thigh.

“So warm…”

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

   


   


Youngjae wakes up with a start. The wind blusters past the curtains and flicks aside several of Youngjae’s papers. A soreness pricks at Youngjae’s neck and he gets up, heading to the bathroom.

He gazes at his reflection in the mirror, tugging his shirt down to see a mark along his shoulder. It hurts only slightly, so Youngjae assumes it must be an insect bite.

As he settles down for breakfast, he tries to piece together the remnants of his dream. No, that was a memory; it reeks of a familiarity too difficult to forge. Youngjae leans back with a fatigued sigh.

He distinctly recalls the emotions but not the experience. Though Youngjae fails to verbalise it, he can make out the prickling feeling on his skin.

Youngjae presses on his neck. He goes to the supermarket to shop for groceries, halting to peruse the ointments his mother often used. Purchasing one, he rubs some on his forehead and above his lip. It’s minty and stings.

As he turns in, he tosses under his blankets, thinking of the kisses Daehyun showered over his neck. He flushes at the thought and gingerly covers his neck. Daehyun only remembers Youngjae as how he was a decade ago; it’s understandable that he still treats Youngjae the same way. A bit too intimate, a bit too close for comfort.

Sleep drizzles over Youngjae like the first rain after many seasons, a silhouette whisking him away into a dream.

 

 

 

“Hello.”

Youngjae feels a touch on his stomach, underneath his shirt. It promptly vanishes as Youngjae fully snaps open his eyes, blinking at Daehyun.

“How was your day?”

“It was okay,” Youngjae replies. He flutters his lashes when Daehyun guides his face towards him, linking their lips.

“You burnt the pancakes this morning,” Daehyun laughs as they part.

“I made it for you,” Youngjae protests. He squints his eyes shut when Daehyun kisses him again.

“I know. Your second try was good.” He holds Youngjae’s hand and guides him out of bed.

“I want to show you something.”

Through the stagnancy of the otherworld (with eyes too shallow to see the horrors Daehyun glosses by), Daehyun leads Youngjae to the wilted tree by the corner store that still has their marking.

_Daehyun & Youngjae. _It’s wobbly, scrawled on with the strength of a 9-year-old. Youngjae stares at it.

The tears sting his cheeks as he kneels by the tree, grazing the marking with his thumb. The memory seethes in with an unforgiving bittersweetness, gluing back the torn pages from his diary. He stood under this tree in Autumn with a pen knife in hand, carving in both their names. Beneath their feet the withered leaves crunched and Daehyun stood by his side with a summery laugh.

“You passed by it today, so I thought to remind you,” Daehyun remarks. “Tomorrow, when you’re awake, you can take a look too.”

“Mm, okay,” Youngjae whispers. He shakily exhales as he delves in the recollections of walking home contentedly with Daehyun afterwards—of the sadness he never knew was to come. It hurts to know he forgot all of it.

Youngjae rises, wiping away his tears. Daehyun takes away his hands and brushes his cheeks for him. Youngjae’s back presses against the tree and they remain at an unnerving proximity, exhales cutting into their skin.

They stare at one another, Daehyun with a gaze hefty enough to imprint every fragment of Youngjae’s tears into his ribs. He steps forward and closes the gap between them.

Youngjae grasps Daehyun’s shoulder in surprise. Undeterred, Daehyun goes closer, kissing deeper as his tongue intrudes Youngjae’s mouth.

“M-Mm,” Youngjae tries to make a sound, heat clawing through his throat. His heart palpitates wildly while Daehyun continues ravaging his lips. Fervent, yearning, needy—it’s uncomfortable.

Youngjae jerks when Daehyun touches his stomach, hand slipping up his shirt. He pushes Daehyun away and they pant heavily, Daehyun breaking into a lovely smile.

“I love you,” Daehyun breathes, hugging his brother snugly. He strokes Youngjae’s hair and fondly hums, taking his brother’s hand.

“Um, Daehyun…” Youngjae mumbles, squirming in Daehyun’s grasp.

“Yeah?” Daehyun glances back with glistening eyes, once so devoid of light when they finally met again. Youngjae chews on his lower lip, reluctant to rob the radiance that Daehyun’s finally grasped.

“Nothing,” he decides. “What do you want to do today?”

“Anything’s fine,” Daehyun beams. He keeps a firm hold on Youngjae’s hand as they amble down the street, silhouettes of their innocent 6-year-old selves tailing them.

 

 

 

It’s sweet. Youngjae munches down his last bite as he takes a slice of his birthday cake to his room, 9-years-old and a little more mindful of his father’s stern glances. Sunday afternoon burns bright over the floors as Youngjae gladly receives a kiss from his brother.

They speak of things 9-year-olds do. Daehyun listens more while Youngjae rambles. Youngjae’s father knocks on the door, coaxing him to come out, but Youngjae shouts back through the door that it’s alright, he doesn’t want to invite any of his friends home.

“What do you think it’s like to get married?” Daehyun asks, voice soft and words whimsical.

“I don’t know.” Youngjae rolls on his side. They lie sprawled out on the floor, encased in their fleeting thoughts.

“Do you want to get married when you grow up?” Daehyun questions.

“Yeah, I do.” Youngjae crosses his arms behind his head. “Pa says I should marry a nice girl. I have to take care of her well.”

“Who will take care of you, then?”

“I’m a man,” Youngjae proudly says, hitting his fist against his chest. “I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of my family.”

Daehyun stays quiet. He similarly rests his head on his arms. “I want to get married, too.”

Youngjae stares at him and glances away when Daehyun turns. “Are there girls where you are?”

“Some.”

“Are they nice?”

Daehyun churns out a smile tinted with an undecipherable irony. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s get married on the same day. Wouldn’t that be cool?” Youngjae declares gleefully.

“Sure.” Daehyun muses to himself, eyes aimlessly trained on the ceiling. “How do people know they want to marry someone?”

“That’s easy. If you love them and you want to stay with them forever, then you marry them,” Youngjae hums. He sucks on his spoon, licking off the remaining cream.

“It must be hard to find someone like that.”

“Well, you just have to keep looking,” Youngjae optimistically spouts. “You’ll find someone that makes you happy one day. Everyone does.”

After a long beat, Daehyun sighs. “The girls here are scary. They keep crying.”

“Why?” Youngjae’s face simmers into a concerned look.

Daehyun observes him with an unreadable expression. “They just do,” he concludes.

“You should comfort them.”

“I don’t want to. I said they’re scary,” Daehyun huffs.

“Why would them crying be scary? You’re being a baby.” Youngjae tilts his head in confusion.

Daehyun grits his teeth. “They scream really loud. You don’t know because you can’t hear them. Why don’t you care about my feelings?”

“I didn’t mean that. Sorry,” Youngjae mumbles. He apologetically lowers his head and inches closer to his brother.

Daehyun averts his gaze. “It’s your birthday, so I shouldn’t get mad at you. I’m sorry.” He stands and Youngjae quickly follows suit.

“I want some more cake.”

“Okay, I’ll get more for us. There’s still a few pieces left.” Youngjae slips out of his room and paces to the living room, taking the rest of the cakes.

“What are you doing, Youngjae?” His mother calls out.

“Daehyun and I are going to eat the rest of the cake. That’s okay, right?”

His father clears his throat. Youngjae’s mother exhales quietly and suggests, “Why don’t you share with your other friends, too? Like Junhong?”

“But Daehyun’s hungry. Besides, Junhong is in Mokpo now with his grandparents.” Youngjae furrows his brows. He spins on his heel before his mother can give anymore input, briskly returning to his brother.

 

 

 

Youngjae wakes up with the blanket caught between his fingers. The linens fall away from his clasp and he rises from the bed.

The house is as quiet as it can get, only his breathing audible amidst the indistinct background noise. Youngjae feels the shadow of Daehyun’s touch from his dreams while his foggy memories linger poignantly in his mind.

After breakfast, he bides his time in his mother’s room. He didn’t bother looking through his mother’s things too conscientiously as he felt it was an invasion of privacy.

Rummaging through her closet, he takes out a stack of her dusty clothes. He presses his mother’s old dress to his nose, inhaling briefly. He regrets not holding his mother more and telling her he loved her.

Though, the reason why he came in here was to fill in the spaces in his memory. Daehyun said the medium made him forget, and he’d heard folk tales about why children were more likely to see spirits. They were more vulnerable, wielding an innocence and a distance not too far from being unborn. Slowly, they would accumulate more energy from the realm of the living and lose their connection to the otherworld whence they came.

Perhaps it went hand in hand. He grew up and lost the ability to see Daehyun, as Daehyun mentioned. His memories were stolen from him which left him as a blank slate—too many cuts in a film that he’s always felt was strangely vague. Of course, Daehyun and him were inseparable. Youngjae’s life practically revolved around Daehyun.

A wind trails over his neck and Youngjae jumps at the leaf he finds along his collar.

“…Daehyun?” Youngjae softly speaks.

It breezes once more. Youngjae puts away his mother’s clothes and switches on the television in the bedroom.

He continues sieving through his mother’s belongings. “I’m looking for things to remember you by.”

No reply comes, as expected. Youngjae pulls out his mother’s notebook, what he had already seen but never throughly browsed through. Its pages are yellowing and brittle, almost as if a touch a bit too harsh will rip all its pages from his spine.

He flips through the pages for mentions of Daehyun. Dates flitter past in a blur of numbers while the years waste by. They stop about a decade ago, when Youngjae was 13.

The last time he had read this, he only noted that these were concerns his mother wanted to bring to the temple medium. Putting it into context now, it makes more sense. His mother oft asked for blessings, but why would she ask about more than one child? Youngjae can’t read Mandarin well but it clearly states _two_.

The last written entry makes note to ask for a blessing of happiness and peace. Youngjae squints to make out the haphazard scrawls. _Always sad, lost appetite, nightmares, doing badly in school._

Is this referring to him? Youngjae lies back on the floor and absentmindedly stares up at the ceiling. It must be; after all, it does mention school. He checks the date and realises the entry was logged in January, the month he turned 13.

He has a bleary recollection of then. Though he can’t remember Daehyun being a part of it, he distinctly makes out what he felt throughout that difficult period. He would have the urge to cry for no reason, often weeping at night in his bedroom. He lost a lot of weight as he never had the appetite to eat and weathered constant nightmares of someone screaming and wailing. It was hard to concentrate too so he fell back on his classes. He didn’t understand why and his mother assured him it was just him growing up.

Was it because of Daehyun? They split when they were 12, so Daehyun said. Youngjae flips through the pages back to the front in hopes of finding an answer.

“Daehyun, around when did we separate?” Youngjae asks aloud. “Can you tell me when we meet later? I’m afraid I’ll forget to ask.”

A gust of wind trails through his hair, tattooing its presence into Youngjae’s skin. The pages flip back to the last written entry and drizzles away against Youngjae’s cheek. Youngjae skims over the scrawls and lies back on the floor, dwelling in the stagnant silence. He wonders what it would be like to have Daehyun lie by his side, tangible, physical, real. Not a figment in his mind that he sees only when he sleeps.

If he feels this bad, he wonders how Daehyun feels, having to be trapped in a world where only the disfigured dead provide some pitiful semblance of company. Youngjae understands why Daehyun hated him, why Daehyun was so buried in envy over him. Imprisoned not just in a space but in a time that seems to run on forever, going through this endless cycle of never having anybody to speak to and being so inconsequential, of having no place in a world that has forsaken him from the very start.

Youngjae rolls onto his side. He first understood grief when his father passed on, but this sort of sadness, so suffocating, is hard to put into words. It weighs down on Youngjae’s windpipe.

How can he live so peacefully in a world like this when there are beings existing so miserably with no escape? They always say the last resort is to kill yourself, but what do you do when you can’t even do that?

_无_ _间地狱._ His mother once frightened him with her tales of the lowest level of hell, where suffering is forever. If these Gods that his mother worships are real, Youngjae hates them for punishing a child like Daehyun who had no control over his fate.

“Why didn’t she let you go?” Youngjae asks aloud. He draws circles into the floor, as though drawing out Daehyun’s profile so this house will remember his presence as well. “Why was Ma so cruel to you?”

The question lingers in his mind as he receives no response. A sudden spell of sleepiness whelms him as his eyelids droop. Over him, he almost believes he sees Daehyun as he lets his eyes fall shut.

 

 

 

It’s cloudy. 7 years old and innocent as ever, Youngjae stands at the top of the slide while the other children scamper around.

He slides down with a squeal. Daehyun watches with a smile as he shrouds himself in the shade of a tree.

“You really don’t want to play?” Youngjae yells as he prances over to Daehyun.

“No, it’s okay.” Daehyun strokes Youngjae’s head and nudges the boy back towards the playground. “Go have fun.”

Junhong stares at Youngjae from the swings and cocks a brow. “Who are you talking to?”

Youngjae bubbles, “My brother.”

Junhong snorts. “You’re talking to a tree. Weirdo.”

He brushes the sand off his shorts as his older brother, Yongguk, chides him for being rude. Junhong sticks his tongue out at his brother.

“Come play hopscotch with me.” Junhong gestures to Youngjae and stalks off first, picking up a pebble and tossing it into one of the squares.

A younger girl sits at the bottom of the steps, having been gazing at Youngjae all this while. Donning a floral dress, her hair is bundled into 2 pig-tails.

She tilts her head and blurts, “You shouldn’t talk to him.” She brashly points at Daehyun.

Youngjae blinks back. She speaks again, “My Mummy says you shouldn’t talk to people like that.”

“But that’s my brother,” Youngjae protests, a crease forming between his brows.

“You’re not supposed to talk to them. They’re not like us,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “They’re bad people.”

“My brother isn’t bad!” Youngjae crossly bellows.

“They all are. You should stop talking to him,” the girl says. “Mummy says you’ll get into big trouble.”

“I don’t care.” Youngjae huffs and turns away, pulling Daehyun with him.

“What’s wrong with her?” Youngjae grumbles as they walk away. “Why am I not supposed to talk to you? You’re not a bad person. She’s so stupid.”

Daehyun shrugs. His eyes are clouded, lips pulled into a thin line as he submerges in his musings.

“Do you still want to play?” Daehyun heaves, mustering a smile. “How about we go back home and draw?”

Youngjae nods enthusiastically. “Okay.”

 

 

 

Youngjae dreams of lotus flowers along the pond and of second lives. He wakes up to the grass beneath his head and his hand tightly encased within Daehyun’s palm. Daehyun has a wistful expression threaded into his lips shut tight while he stares up at the sky.

“You were really sad when Ma locked me up,” Daehyun starts. “You couldn’t remember me, but I guess your heart did.”

Daehyun shifts onto his side and presses their foreheads together, breathing slow. “You would cry at night and refuse to eat, shutting yourself in the room. I could feel just how upset you were because we were so linked at that time, even though we were separated.”

He nuzzles their noses and holds Youngjae’s hand tight, pressing it to his chest. “You always make me feel the worst things,” he laughs. “You asked me when we were younger what I feared the most, and I told you it was being lonely. But being with you made me feel things even worse than that.”

“I’m sorry,” Youngjae whispers, holding on to Daehyun’s hand as well. “I’m really sorry, Daehyun.”

Daehyun smiles. “Feeling helpless is much, much worse than feeling lonely. Watching you suffer and not being able to do anything about it… Do you know what that feels like, Youngjae? To watch the people you love suffer and yet you can’t do a single thing.”

Youngjae presses his lips together as the guilt churns nauseatingly in his stomach. “I feel that with you.”

“So, you know a bit of my pain,” Daehyun chuckles. “Triple it again and again till you can’t. That’s how I felt.”

He brushes Youngjae’s hair. “You make me suffer so much, but it’s always worth it. You make me feel so alive.”

Youngjae keeps mum, nestling against Daehyun and earning himself a smile from his brother.

“That’s why I keep asking you. Will you leave me?” Daehyun sighs. “Will you abandon me like Ma did?”

“Of course not,” Youngjae breathes. “I’ll never make you suffer like how she did to you.”

“Even if I’m a bad person?” Daehyun mumbles. “Ma put me away because she thought I was bad. If one day, you think I’m a bad person, will you do that too?”

“I won’t. I’ll always be with you. Forever and always.”

“You swear?”

“Mm, I swear.”

Daehyun leans forward to kiss Youngjae gently. “Do I make you happy?”

“Yes, you do.”

“And you want to stay with me forever and always,” Daehyun chuckles, brushing their lips once more as Youngjae squints his eyes shut.

“Mm.”

Daehyun hums. “Do you love me?”

Youngjae nods. “Of course I do.”

“You love me, you want us to stay together forever, and I make you happy,” Daehyun summarises, feeling Youngjae’s short fingers in his palms. He caresses, presses and remembers the lines over his skin.

“What does that mean?”

Youngjae frowns. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Daehyun repeats, lost in his thoughts. “It means we should be together.”

“You’re just saying the same things,” Youngjae groans, inciting a warm laugh from Daehyun.

“Maybe.” Daehyun brings Youngjae’s small hand up to lips and breathes in deep.

 

 

 

It’s soft. Youngjae is 12 years old, lying in his brother’s arms. He drifts in and out of his sleep, blearily trying to stay awake to spend more time with his brother. They can’t talk as much in the day, so Youngjae secretly stays up to talk to Daehyun. It’s been like this for four years.

Daehyun combs Youngjae’s hair. “You always say that.”

“But I mean it. I want us to stay together forever. I don’t care what Pa says,” Youngjae blubbers, words slurring a little in his sleepiness.

“Well, you said it yourself. I’m going to follow you around forever.”

“I’ll burp every day! So you have to smell it,” Youngjae announces proudly. Daehyun laughs, caressing Youngjae’s cheek.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae returns.

“If I follow you around even when you’re an adult, do you think your future wife will hate me? Like your father?” His fingers thread through Youngjae’s hair, gentle and light, yet his words are weighty.

“No, why would you say that?” Youngjae crossly answers, the sudden possibility making him upset. “I won’t want to marry a girl if she doesn’t like you.”

Daehyun shrugs. “Who knows. I wouldn’t want to get in your way too,” he hums, thumb grazing over Youngjae’s eyelashes.

“What do you mean by get in my way?”

“You said it before. You have to take care of your family next time. I don’t think they would want you to talk to a ghost.”

Daehyun offers a wistful smile. “Then again, like that old man said, you won’t be able to talk to me in a few years. So it won’t matter.”

Youngjae licks his lips, hoping to churn out a sound but to no avail. Daehyun stares at his hands for a long while as Youngjae struggles.

“I-I won’t let that happen,” Youngjae bravely blurts.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Daehyun’s voice drips with just a tinge of antagonism, more resignation underlying his fatigued tone.

Youngjae keeps mum and his eyes dart to the floor. Daehyun opens and closes his hand, later glancing to Youngjae.

“My existence is so miserable,” his words are poignant from a 12-year-old boy’s lips. “I was killed before I could even see the world. I’m trapped here forever till the day I’m supposed to have died. In a few years, the only person I have won’t be able to see me anymore.”

“I wonder what God has against me,” Daehyun sighs, tightening his arms around Youngjae. “Maybe I was a horrible person in my past life. That’s why I’m suffering so much now.”

Youngjae places his hand above Daehyun’s wrist and sadly gazes up into his brother’s eyes. Daehyun’s lips quirk and he apologetically strokes Youngjae’s head.

“I’m kidding.” He kisses Youngjae’s neck and the boy squirms in response. “You should sleep.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You should. You’ll be too tired to stay awake if you don’t,” Daehyun remarks. He lets go of Youngjae and gets off the bed.

Alarmed, Youngjae instantly sits up. “Where are you going? Are you leaving me?”

“I’m not,” Daehyun assures. “I’m just going out so I don’t bother you.”

“You never do that. You always stay with me till I fall asleep,” Youngjae childishly blurts. His eyes begin to water and he whimpers, “I’m sorry I can’t do anything, Daehyun. I’m so stupid. I’m so useless.”

He wraps his arms around his head as the tears furiously burn down his cheeks. His body wracks with cries. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Daehyun.”

Daehyun bats his lashes and sighs, briskly pulling Youngjae into a hug. “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” He pacifyingly pats Youngjae’s back and whispers some consoling words into the boy’s ear.

Youngjae persists in his crying, hiccupping as he chokes on his sobs. “I still want to talk to you. I don’t want you to go.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay. See,” Daehyun comforts, climbing back into the bed. Youngjae shakes his head and covers his eyes.

“Why is it so hard? I just want to be with you,” Youngjae weeps. “We do everything together. How can I just… not see you one day?”

Daehyun releases a hefty breath. He wipes Youngjae’s tears and observes his brother’s every feature,

Daehyun releases a hefty breath. He wipes Youngjae’s tears and observes his brother’s every feature, feeling softly.

Youngjae knits his brows together and mumbles, “What are you doing?”

“Touching you.” Daehyun cups Youngjae’s cheek and Youngjae stares back with teary eyes.

“You really want to stay with me forever?”

“Obviously I do. That’s such a stupid question,” Youngjae blubbers.

Daehyun keeps silent for a lengthy moment. He eventually speaks after some clear deliberation.

“Would you leave Ma and your Pa behind for me?”

Youngjae parts his lips. He thinks to himself as Daehyun’s expression slowly deteriorates into displeasure.

“Yes,” Youngjae finally decides. “I love Ma, Pa and you, but… I don’t want to leave you alone.”

A tiny smile scribbles over Daehyun’s face. He goes closer till the space between them is minimal, only a mere centimetre between their lips.

“That means you love me, right?”

“Of course,” Youngjae states in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You love me and you want us to stay together forever,” Daehyun repeats, his tone hinting and expectant.

“Mm.” Youngjae sniffles.

Daehyun shifts. “Do I make you happy?”

Youngjae nods, puzzled by the sudden barrage of questions. “Why are you asking me all these? Don’t you already know all of these?”

Daehyun folds his lips as he delves into a spell of deep contemplation. Some hesitance shadows his face but he approaches in any case. Youngjae jerks when he feels a touch over his chest, bare and cold.

“I… want to try something.” Daehyun kisses Youngjae with a ginger tenderness.

“Try what?”

“Do you feel warm around me?” Daehyun whispers.

“Warm?” Youngjae squints his eyes shut when Daehyun goes from kissing his lips to his jawline.

“That’s how I feel around you. Like… I’m alive,” Daehyun hoarsely confesses.

“That’s good, right?” Youngjae jolts again when Daehyun’s hand trails to his thigh.

Daehyun nods. “Do you feel that way?”

Youngjae mulls over the question. “Yeah, you make me happy.”

“I’m glad.” Daehyun brushes their lips once more.

His hand reaches further down.


End file.
